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strangerstilinski · 7 months

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𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐯𝐞 𝐡𝐚𝐫𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐭𝐨𝐧 𝐱 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫

𝙨𝙤𝙢𝙚𝙝𝙤𝙬, 𝙬𝙚'𝙧𝙚 𝙝𝙚𝙧𝙚

summary; it’s been a long couple of months, and after a particularly rough night, your ex boyfriend finds his way straight back to you.

warnings; no use of y/n, post s4, exes-to-lovers, description of injury and blood, hurt/comfort, emotional sex, unprotected vaginal sex, a lil bit of cockwarming

word count; ~5k

a/n; i meant for this to be a quick little hurt/comfort thing but then my mind kind of ran wild and it turned into.. this. but i think i really like how it turned out sooo, y'know.. leave a comment/tag/reblog if you enjoy!

𝐍𝐒𝐅𝐖 𝟏𝟖+

You're not entirely certain who you were expecting to find on the other side of your door at two in the morning, and maybe you should've given the possibilities a bit more thought before unlocking the door and swinging it open wide, effectively exposing yourself to whatever may be waiting on the other side — but you don't. And it's with a sleep-slowed brain, a baggy tshirt resting high on your naked thighs, and bare feet that drag lazy across cold floorboards, that you find yourself staring at your ex boyfriend.

Steve Harrington.

He's standing in front of you looking a little nervous, a little lost, and a whole lot like he's just come from some sort of brawl. The sudden brightness of the hallway lights outside of your apartment makes your eyes ache and you're squinting, one hand coming up to block a bit of the light just as your heart drops as you take him in.

His hair is a little longer than when you last saw him, impossible for him to keep from flopping down over his forehead while the ends curl at the nape of his neck, light shining down on the strands and streaking golden through the locks that you'd run your hands through once upon a time. But you're hardly able to process or file away those small changes when your gaze begins frantically to absorb the more important and wildly more alarming details in his appearance.

The light wash of his jeans is covered in splotches of denim slightly darker than the rest where something's been spilled down his leg, streaks of dirt rubbed into the knees like he'd fallen down, and blood — there are crimson drops of it splattered along the fabric at his thigh, likely his, likely from the split lip he's sporting, or perhaps from his bruising nose.. When those red smears crusted beneath his nostrils had been fresh and wet and had clearly dripped down past his chin and onto the collar of his shirt, which also seems to be stained in an array of red-splotched fabric.

“Fuck. Steve, what-” Your voice shakes through the sleepy rasp in your throat, blood roaring in your ears at the familiarity of it all — the scene in front of you sending that achingly familiar trickle of fear and worry and panic all racing down your spine.

“I- Hey, sweetheart.” His own voice cracks a little like his throat's been scraped raw from shouting. He's got his hands tucked away in his back pockets like he might be able to make himself small enough that you won't start yelling, his eyes sad and a little pleading as he gives you a weak smile. He lets out a small hiss of a wince when the motion pulls at the slow drying scab on his lower lip.

“Stevie..” The nickname slips out before you can swallow it down.

You think that you might be in shock, if the adrenaline shooting through your veins is anything to go by. It's making it a little difficult to think clearly as you stumble through the doorway, hands coming into contact with his chest as you brace yourself. Your thumbs find those drops of blood that are still drying into the fabric of his shirt, shaking fingers dragging over the freckles on the side of his throat on their way to his jaw.

You have to fight the instinct to linger on those faded scars encircling his neck, have to fight to push back the memories of the night that things between you had finally fallen apart — when all of Steve's half-truths and secrets and outright lies had finally pushed you to your breaking point. The night of the earthquake. When he'd shown up on your doorstep in the early hours of the morning, just like this, looking like he'd been to hell and back, in search of comfort and someone to patch him up but apparently not looking to give out any explanations for the state he'd come to you in. Not for the marks on his neck, and certainly not for the horrifying chunks of flesh that had been torn from his stomach and sides.

The fear you'd felt that night coils in your gut again. It's the very same fear that you'd endured eight months before the end, when Steve had gone awol for forty-eight hours only to find you the evening of the mall fire. That time, his left eye had been nearly swollen shut, body littered in bruises in varying shades of black and purple. You'd sat with him in the bathtub with your limbs carefully wrapped around him for hours, until the water had gone ice cold, and even after that he'd been glued to your side until morning. You'd both burrowed beneath a pile of blankets despite the summer heat, legs tangled and sweaty bodies clinging to one another. Even though you couldn't begin to understand how the fire could have been the cause of his turmoil, of his injuries, you'd still held him tight, one hand tangled in his damp hair at all times while he'd clutched onto you like you were his lifeline. The hours it had taken for the tremble in his hands to fade had nearly broken your heart.

It's all a little too much, the position that you've suddenly been thrust back into.

“Wh-? What the hell happened?” You question hoarsely.

Why you bother to ask now, you're not entirely sure. You're certainly not expecting him to give you any answers, but as your thumb pushes gently into the swelling softness of his busted lip, the fingers of your opposite hand brushing the hair back from his blood-spattered forehead, Steve sighs.

“It's not.. I was at the bar. Got into a fight.” He admits with another wince as your thumb skates up the bridge of his nose.

“Got into a fight or started a fight?” You ask quietly, eyes flicking slow between his; they're tired and bloodshot, his lashes clumped together like maybe he'd been crying, caramel swirling in the pretty brown depths that you'd been steadfastly avoiding thinking about these last few months.

A huff crackles as he tries to push a sigh from his blood-clogged nose, his hands finally leaving his pockets to hang awkwardly at his sides while he gives a small shrug, “..’was stupid.” He says in lue of a direct answer.

“I'm sure it was,” You grumble under your breath, swallowing your instincts and forcing yourself to take a small step back, your hands falling away so you can hug your arms across your own chest with a sigh, “What're you doing here, Steve?”

“I didn't know where to.. I..” The words don't seem to come and he falters, shrinking in on himself further, “I don't know.” He admits after a moment.

Your eyes close as your emotions threaten to overwhelm you, “I can't-”

“Please,” Steve nearly whispers the word and when you meet his eyes again, his gaze is a little watery, “I know you don't want to see me. I know you're still mad. And.. You have every right to be, okay? But-”

“But what?” You plead weakly, fingers digging a little meanly into your own arms.

“I just..” He struggles for a moment, hands raking through his hair and ruffling it into further disarray, “I just needed.. I..”

The fissure in your heart cracks wide, the slow healing wound tearing open to expose this gaping thing that feels a little like it might be enough to shatter your soul. Even while the more sensible parts of your brain scream at you to shut the door in his face, you find yourself taking his hand in yours, swollen and blood crusted knuckles under your thumb as you pull him into the dark apartment and close the door behind you.

You push him to sit down on the couch, a wordless order for him to stay put implied in the sidelong glance that you shoot him before turning away to move down the hall and grab your first aid kit and a wet cloth from the bathroom. When you return, Steve hasn't moved an inch, just as miserable and small-looking as you'd left him a few moments before. He's got his fingers tucked into the crook of space behind his knees, the tall streetlight across the road allowing stripes of light to cut across his hunched form, late night shadows eating up everything else.

The coffee table is nudged closer to the sofa with your foot as you sit down in front of him, your bare knees brushing filthy denim when you scoot to the edge of the table and bring the cloth up to his blood-spattered cheek. You're gentle with it, wiping at same spots a few times with the lightest pressure you can manage as the mess proceeds to smear, red-tinged streaks of water against his skin lessening with each careful swipe. Once his face is clean, you move on to the knuckles of his right hand, pulling it from where he has it tucked beneath his thigh to softly wash away the crusted blood from his split and bruising skin.

You work silently for a few minutes. The soiled cloth is dropped against the coffee table with a wet slap and you immediately turn to find the alcohol and cotton balls in the messy basket you keep stored beneath your bathroom sink.

You've just begun to open the package of cotton when Steve says your name, nothing more than a hoarse whisper to break the heavy silence.

When you meet his eyes, the desperation you find there has you faltering for a moment. The warmth that seeps into your skin from each point of contact between you suddenly seems so much stronger. Heat and nerves creep up the back of your neck as you blink at him in question.

The backs of his damp knuckles drag up over your calf before pushing into the smooth skin on the outside of your thigh, his thumb pinching lightly at the doughy flesh there, “I.. Can you..” His hand unfurls and he lets his palm settle against you, his fingertips high enough to slip beneath the hem of your oversized shirt and brush the crook where your thigh meets your hip, “I just.. want..”

He seems incapable of finishing his thoughts, but he doesn't really need to because you know. With the way his free hand comes up to push a lock of hair behind your ear, thumb tracing the line of your jaw to your chin before catching against your lower lip in that all too familiar way, you know what it is that he's asking for.

“Steve..” Your accompanying sigh comes out a little shaky as you exhale it over the pad of his finger, your lashes fluttering as something stirs in your gut in response to his soft touch, “I don't think that's a good-”

“Please.” He whispers again — and, how could you possibly deny him when he sounds so pitiful that it wrenches at your broken heart? While his brows are drawing together like he's already bracing himself for your rejection even as his eyes remain soft and pleading?

And when the hand on your thigh pushes up to slide over the bare skin at the base of your spine, when he applies the barest pressure to urge you toward him, when the fingers on your face slip behind your neck — you're climbing into his lap with little encouragement. Your shins push into the couch cushions on either side of his thighs, hands finding the hem of his ruined shirt and guiding it up over his head in an easy movement that has his hair flopping down over his forehead again.

When your gaze drops, you allow yourself all of ten seconds to trail your fingers over the rough scars across his abdomen. The skin is a little puckered and pink, mottled in a way that it probably wouldn't be if he'd found himself at the hospital that night in late March instead of on your doorstep, but they've healed. It's a far cry from the jagged wounds that you'd tried to clean with blood-stained hands, through quiet sobs and glassy eyes. They'd been so deep, as if something had tried to carve out little bits and pieces of him over and over, like something had torn into him, like something had feasted on his flesh then and left behind nothing but the evidence of small, frighteningly sharp teeth.

Your choked questions ring in your ears even now, the way you'd begged for him to tell you what was going on, who kept hurting him like this — but as easily as your own voice echos in your memories, so does Steve's. You can still hear his agonized groans and cries of pain as you'd tended to his injuries, can still remember the sound of his desperate pleas for you to drop it, to just accept that he couldn't explain-

And you'd asked him then, if it was that he couldn't or that he wouldn't. The resulting silence from him had been answer enough.

Now, Steve seems to know exactly where your mind has gone and he covers your hands with his own, pressing your palms flat against the lingering marks on his skin.

“They're healed.” You state quietly through the emotion clogging your throat. The obviousness of the statement rings stupidly in your ears but you're not sure what else to say in the heavy silence.

“Yeah,” Steve agrees, voice hoarse, “I had a pretty good nurse.. Cleaned me up real nice so that I didn't, I dunno, die from an infection or somethin'.”

A laugh pushes up from your throat that borders on a sob, “She sounds cool.” You manage, your thumbnail scraping lightly into the healed patch of skin under your hand.

“Oh, yeah, the coolest.” Steve tells you with the barest hint of a smile pulling at the unbruised side of his mouth. “You okay?” He asks quietly after another moment of silence.

“Yeah. Yeah, 'm fine.” You tell him with a shake of your head.

“Sweetheart..” Steve starts slowly, “I want.. Shit, I- I want you so bad right now, but if you don't want this-” When his hands move to the hem of your sleep shirt, his eyes meet yours in silent question, and your head is nodding a little wildly in approval before you can begin to think too hard about it.

His hands nearly burn with every brush against your bare skin as you strip one another down to nothing, his touch leaving behind invisible streaks of something heavy and terrifyingly melancholy, something that you're sure will linger painfully in your chest long after he's gone and left you with a broken heart and an ever growing list of unanswered questions.

“I still have to clean your cuts.” You tell him quietly.

Steve's eyes only rake over your naked body for a moment before his gaze settles back on yours, “Okay.”

You settle over his lap again and wet a cotton ball with alcohol, “It's gonna hurt.” You warn in a whisper.

“I know.” Steve returns just as softly.

Bracing one hand on the side of his neck, you dab featherlight over his split lip. Steve's jaw clenches at the sting as it seeps into the cut and you murmur a soft apology while you continue to clean the area with careful fingers.

Steve's hands settle on your hips and his eyes flick between yours as he waits for you to meet his gaze. When you look up from his swollen lower lip, he gulps, adam's apple bobbing in his throat.

“Is this okay?” He asks, fingers digging into your flesh a little as he pulls your hips until your groins align nicely.

“Yeah.” You murmur, dabbing at the cut on his lip again just so that you have an excuse to look away from his eyes.

Your heartbeat ricochets against your ribs sharply as Steve guides you to grind slow over his lap, the warmth of him wedged between your spread folds. The way he manhandles you isn't rushed, the movement not nearly as desperate as you'd been expecting from his plea for intimacy. It's slow and quiet and filled with a weight that you wouldn't quite be able to explain if you tried.

It doesn't take long for his cock fatten up and grow stiff underneath you, his length and the patch of hair surrounding it both streaked with slick where your wet cunt has been dragging back and forth. You're both breathing a little heavy as you finish cleaning the cuts on his lip and the bridge of his nose, your faces close though neither one of you make any move to close the distance.

Steve curls an arm around the back of your thigh as he reaches around to guide himself toward your entrance. A breathy sound falls from your lips when you roll your hips back and feel his tip catch, just barely pushing in. He's as thick and warm and perfect as he's always been, and that hunger to have all of him spreads down the back of your tongue like warm honey, but the moment you spread your thighs a little farther to take more, Steve is stopping you.

“Wait, wait, wait. You.. Are you sure you're okay with this?” He asks suddenly. His fingers are digging into your hips, holding you in place to keep you from sinking farther down onto him as he awaits your response.

“Wh-?” Your jaw trembles with something like petulance, a little desperate yourself now that you can feel the fat head of his cock inside you, stretching you wide despite barely breaching your entrance, “You said that you-”

“I do. Fuck, I do, I just want to make sure you're sure.” He says it so soft, so earnest, and his concern has you feeling something resembling whiplash. The two of you haven't spoken in months, but he'd shown up at your front door in the middle of the night and practically begged for you; for your presence and your care and your body.

You want to feel angry with him. For looking out for your well-being now, for being Steve, for bringing up so many feelings that you'd tried so hard to bury, but he's looking up at you with imploring eyes — a gaze that says if you climbed off of his lap now, he wouldn't be upset with you, if anything, he'd be upset with himself and..

It has you reeling a little bit, that blooming affection crawling like rapidly expanding ivy inside your chest.

You brush that stubborn chunk of hair back and off of his forehead again, your fingers combing through to the back of his head until they can toy with the bits curling at the nape of his neck. Your mouth finds its way to the space between his brows, a shaky exhale masked by the kiss you press to his skin before dropping your foreheads together.

“I am. I'm sure.” You promise in a whisper.

When you sink down, both of you groan in synchrony, breathy and guttural. The stretch hurts more than you were expecting, but it's been months since you've done this, so you suppose that the sting from him filling you up is warranted. Your hips settle against his and his arms curl around your back to hold you in place, to hold you close. His chest is flush to yours, scattered hairs on his pecs pressed to your breasts, the tip of your nose still barely avoiding brushing against the bruised bridge of his own.

The sensation of being so full leaves you feeling a little overwhelmed, the intimacy of the moment suddenly too heavy. His breath mingling with your own and his soft hair tangled up around your fingers brings pinpricks of heat to your eyes that you stubbornly attempt to blink back.

“Hey.. Hey, honey,” Steve murmurs softly, one hand coming up to swipe a thumb along your watery lashline, “What's wrong? You okay? You hurting?”

Another strangled sounding scoff of a laugh tumbles from your lips, a weak sniffle as your fingers find their way to those smooth, faded lines along the front of his throat again, “I should be asking you that. You're the one who's had the shit beaten out of him tonight.”

“I'm fine. Two weeks n' I'll be good as new,” Steve assures you with carefully crafted nonchalance, his tear-stained thumb dragging back and forth along the apple of your cheek, “Now what's goin' on in that beautiful head of yours, huh?”

“I just..” You huff out a sigh, rolling your hips experimentally to test the ache between your thighs, “I missed you. Fuck, I- I miss you so much, Steve.”

A few tears do manage to break through then, something about the way the patchy light coming in through the windows casts a glow over his battered face, the browns in his eyes shining golden in the dark.

“Me too, I miss you too,” He rasps desperately, “Shit, honey. If you think I don't miss you every goddamn second- You're everything. You're my everything.”

He's holding your face in both hands now, palms cradling your jaw so gently, arms trembling like he's trying to fight the urge to hold onto you tighter. His restraint and his words twist sharply in your gut, something akin to dread weaving its way inside of you.

“I'm scared,” You admit, voice quiet and buried beneath tears, “I'm so scared-”

“Scared?” Steve repeats, concern flashing in his eyes, “What're you afraid of?”

“Losing you.” You gasp.

“Sweetheart-”

Your chest is heaving a little with the labored breaths beginning to tumble past your lips, “I'm gonna lose you all over again, because I can't.. It- It is terrifying. To see you hurt and bleeding and not know why. To worry that the next time might be even worse than the last and have you keep skirting around the truth or outright lying-”

“Hey, hey. Honey, hey,” Steve gives your cheeks a soft shake under his hands and your gaze falls back to his, “I'm sorry-”

“Jesus christ.” You bemoan quietly as another tear falls, halfheartedly pushing at his arms to dislodge his hands.

“No, no, I mean it,” Steve pleads softly, “I'm so sorry I kept you in the dark, I just- Shit, it's so complicated, I-”

“Asshole.” The interruption comes out a grumble under your breath, and you're gearing up to climb off of his lap entirely when his weak chuckle meets your ears.

“I am,” He nods, brushing your hair back from your tear streaked face, “I'm an asshole and I'm sorry. I- I'll tell you everything, alright? I will. I will.”

“Promise?” You hate yourself for how small you sound, how unsure and broken.

“I promise.”

You crane your neck and tilt your head to brush your lips featherlight over his, carefully avoiding putting any pressure on the mess of purple and black and red along the bridge of his nose, your thumbs gravitating yet again to drag over those smooth, barely visible scars around his neck.

“Does your mouth hurt too much, or can I-?” You ask quietly, eyes flicking between his.

“'course you can,” His hand pushes into your hair behind your ear, cupping your head to guide you forward carefully, “C'mere.”

Your mouths come together with all of the gentleness you can manage and you leave one soft peck, then two, then three. You begin to work your hips over his all the while, and neither of you can hold back a keening noise of pleasure at the slow drag of his cock inside your warm walls.

You ease back from his mouth to drag the pads of your index and middle finger lightly over the bruises coloring his skin.

“Did.. Did you really get into a bar fight?” You can't help but ask, even as you're lifting up and dropping back down hard enough to have you both letting out a breathy whimper.

“Yeah,” Steve nods, his fingers trailing along your ribs and stomach like he's trying to re-familiarize himself with every inch of your skin, “I.. It's possible I have some unresolved anger or something from- After everything that happened. Sometimes it kinda takes over, like tonight, and then I pick a fight I know I can't win, but.. 'm not lying to you anymore. I mean that.”

You nod and his arms curl around your back to pull you impossibly closer. Trapped in his embrace, you can't do much more than grind on him with slow swivels of your hips, the head of his cock rubbing at that spot on your inner wall that has your brows pulling together in pleasure.

He's so close like this. His chest hair drags against your bare breasts and your tummies are pressed together and the sweat on his forehead mingles with your own. You feel warm — in the physical sense, yes, but also in your stomach, in your bones, in your heart.

“I love you.” Steve says with emotion, like he's feels that warmth too.

Your eyes prickle a little traitorously, fingers toying with the soft ends of his hair, “I love you,” You manage in a choked gasp, “I love you.”

“Ho- Shit..” Steve groans, chin tipping up toward the ceiling for a moment as he throws his head back, “You feel so fuckin' good, honey.”

“Y'r cock feels good,” You pant in response, “So good. So big. I- Fuck.”

“So tight,” He mutters, sitting up a little straighter to meet every roll of your hips, “So perfect. 's like you were fucking made for me, you know that? Take me so well. You were made for this, for me-”

The way that your clit is rubbing against the thatch of hair on his pelvis has you a little dumb already, and his lust-fueled rambling only intensifies your budding orgasm, both of your thighs slick with how fucking good it feels to have him inside of you again. You nod in agreement to his words and manage to give a small whimper, but it seems that he's not done yet.

“-Missed this so much. Missed you, missed this.. Fuck. Honey, I love you. I love you. I-”

“Steve,” You whine, “Love you too.”

His tanned cheeks have gone a little pink beneath the dusting of bruises on his face, breathy groans fanning out past his busted lip. The pretty little noises of pleasure that he can't seem to hold back have you reeling, your gut twisting with heat at the sight of him, the sound of him.

“So goddamn wet for me, honey,” Steve grumbles, his voice catching in a way that has your cunt clenching down on him, “Listen to her. You hear that?”

You do. There's a lewd squelch emitting from the place where you're joined, the sound filling the otherwise quiet apartment every time that your hips roll at just the right angle. It happens again just then, his cock stretching your hole wide enough for the drag of slick and air to create a mildly embarrassing noise that has Steve giving another needy groan, his hips bucking up into yours.

“God, fuck, please tell me you're getting close,” He nearly whimpers, lifting up off of the couch to drive up into you again, “Please, I'm getting so close, babe. Need you to come.”

Euphoria licks up your spine in a white-hot flame, your weight bearing down that much harder to apply more pressure on your puffy clit. Sweat trickles down your spine, disappearing beneath Steve's forearms where they're looped tight around you.

“Mhm,” You hum, the sound catching in the back of your throat, “M'gonna come, Stevie. Y'r gonna make me come.”

Your hips roll a little faster and Steve continues to buck up into you, his cock pressing so, so nicely against the spot that has your brain whiting out a bit at the edges.

“Come on, sweet girl. Come for me,” Steve moans, warm breath fanning out over your lips, “Please, honey. Please come on my cock. Shit, I need it. Need you t' come, please.”

“I am, I am, I am,” You babble desperately, “M'gonna, fuck, fuck, 'm-”

The knot of pleasure in your gut twists sharply and you cry out, face burying in his neck with a whiny gasp as your orgasm crashes over you. Your cunt tightens and trembles around him and a deliciously choked sounding moan tears past Steve's lips as he finally lets his own release wash over him.

The warmth of his come coating your insides has you fluttering around him further, your hands grappling restlessly for any part of him to hold on to, his hair, the back of his neck, his shoulders, his biceps. Breathy little whines and gasps and groans tumble from both of you as you ride it out, the trembling tenseness in your muscles releasing all at once as you go limp in his arms.

It takes a minute, but you eventually come back to yourself a little, peppering a delicate kiss to that infuriating strip of scar tissue along his throat before you're pushing up with weak limbs to look at the man underneath you.

“Hey.” It comes out in a murmur, a breathless little thing that leaves you feeling kind of silly, but your brain hasn't yet recovered enough to work at its full-capacity.

Steve only grins, his lips curling to reveal perfect teeth, a pretty smile pulling at his busted and bruising lips. His eyes twinkle in the patchy darkness of your living room, a pretty mosaic of brown and gold and speckles of green catching in the light and forcing your heart rate to tick up in adoration.

“Hey, honey.” He returns sweetly, one arm uplooping from around your spine so he can reach up to push the sweaty flyaways back from your face.

You can't help but shift over him, sore legs flexing where they're spread over his hairy thighs, a trickle of warmth leaking out from where you're still joined and dripping down into the thick hair at the base of his cock. It feels dirty and intimate in the best way — his come mingled with your own, your fingers in his sweat-dampened hair, his wide palms rubbing softly from your hips to your spine and then back again.

“I kinda want to stay like this forever.”

Your whispered admission has his eyes crinkling softly and he drops his forehead to your chest, his breath fanning out over your breasts as he lets out a breathy chuckle.

“You won't hear any complaints from me.” Steve mumbles into your skin.

You never want to leave this moment. Your nose pushes into his hair and you pull in the familiar melding of scents, of expensive shampoo and hairspray and an underlying smell that's just Steve. You want to stay right here, in this perfectly imperfect bubble, but you feel Steve wince when he burrows his face into your chest just a little too hard and the serenity cracks.

“Steve?” You murmur softly, fingertips scraping gently against his scalp despite the nerves in your stomach.

“Yeah, sweetheart?”

You steel yourself with a deep breath, “You know I'd do anything to protect you, right? You.. You know that I'll do anything for you.. Know that.. That you can trust me?” It comes out in a rush, and your nerves increase tenfold when Steve pulls back to look at you, “..Right?”

“Honey,” The endearment comes out laced with something sweet and sticky that makes it sound an awful lot like an apology, “Of course I do.”

His eyes are so soft as they flick between your own, his hands smoothing up the length of your spine in a soothing drag of skin on skin. One hand leaves his hair only so that you can trace your thumb over those two wide freckles on the apple of his cheek, a self-deprecating sort of smile pulling at your lips.

“And.. And you're gonna tell me what's been going on with you?” You nearly whisper.

His mouth finds yours to press a featherlight kiss to your lips, “Yeah, honey. No more secrets. No more lies.”

“Promise?” You ask again, lips pulling into a smile where they're still brushing his own. Your faces are so close it's hard to focus on the way his eyes shine with adoration when he looks up at you, the bruises on the bridge of his nose blurring in the darkness.

“Promise.”

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thecreelhouse · 3 months

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pin back in the grenade

Paring: Steve Harrington x AFAB reader

Word count: 6k+

CW/tags: best friends to lovers, hurt/comfort, angst, post s4, mentions of wounds/blood/etc., fluff, PiV unprotected sex, oral sex (m receiving), somno if you squint (tbh not really but just to be safe gonna add that one), light dirty talk. title is from ‘liar’ by paramore. MDNI

request from this post (that was supposed to be a blurb and I am so sorry): 🩹 tending to each other's wounds, 🍯 friends to lovers, 🔥 slow burn, 🛏 only one bed

also combining this with a request I got back after s4 part 2 dropped (to that anon, I am REALLY sorry lmao) for post s4 comfort sex w/ Steve. anyway, hope y’all enjoy <3

“Do you get a new freckle every day?”

Steve’s brows crinkle together while he laughs wearily. “Huh?”

You’re cleaning the wound around his neck and can’t help noticing just how many freckles and moles he has across his body. Or, from what you can see, at least. He has his shirt off while you’re tending to his injuries from the Upside Down and Vecna’s destruction across Hawkins.

Over the last several years, Steve’s normally vacant house became a safe haven for disasters like these, also a place where the kids could be together to just hang out on the quiet, normal days. He never said it, but he loved hearing the kids laughing and yelling, sometimes having movie nights, or playing DnD; it was a welcomed sound compared to the painful quiet he had grown used to for the majority of his life.

Tonight, no inside jokes and endearing name calling echoed throughout the house. No fighting over which movie to play first, or what kind of pizza to order, or the shouting and cheering that usually came along with playing their favorite game. If anything, there were somber conversations, softly echoing through the house, with words and emotions no kid should have to be worried about. Sometimes there was crying, or complete silence, where the only thing Steve could hear was the faint, yet now permanent ringing in his ears he had gained over the last several years. Any which way a sound like these carried through the house, it broke his heart.

So, you try distracting him as the two of you clean one another’s wounds for yet another night. You keep things light where possible, but the both of you know it’s only a bandaid over a permanent emotional scar that is torn open time and time again. The physical wounds always heal, but the heartbreak you’ve all grown accustomed to is one that weighs so heavy on everyone’s hearts, and you can’t imagine it vanishing anytime soon.

“Yeah, I swear, it’s like you’re magically turning into a connect the dots picture, or something.” Steve smiles, laughing softly through his nose at your corny attempt to keep his mind off of the trauma.

“You think so? Maybe one of these days you should come up with a drawing out of ‘em.” Steve’s trying his hardest to keep things lighthearted, too, but sometimes it’s just easier to feel the pain instead of forcing any positivity.

“Jesus, this is gnarly.” You murmur, still amazed by the damage Steve took this time around as you’re softly swiping some kind of medicated ointment along the open wound. He hisses from the dull sting, but the substance begins to numb the ache and inflammation, bringing some sort of relief, if any at all. “Do you feel like a greasy slug when you use this stuff? Because I definitely feel like a greasy slug when I use it.”

Neither of you had figured out the best way to dress the wound around his neck, so Steve had been changing clean t-shirts like bandages every few hours. The others, at least, were relatively easy to clean and dress, but they seemed to be deeper; Steve probably needed stitches on some, but he refused to go to the hospital, insisting other people in town had worse injuries, and needed the medical attention more.

“I mean, I feel slimy… but not like a slug— Jesus, how much sleep did you get last night?” At first, you think he’s asking because of your silly remark, but then he’s cupping the side of your face, thumb gently rubbing along your cheekbone, getting a better look at the dark circles draped under your eyes. You push aside the butterflies in your stomach from his touch as you reach for his clean shirt, moving his arms out in front of you to roll the fabric down and over his arms and head. For a moment, you miss his touch, but it’s back on your face after he adjusts his shirt.

“Seriously, are you sleeping at all?” He asks softly, eyes filled with worry. Leave it to Steve to worry about everyone else before himself.

You shrug as you look away, not wanting to make a big fuss. “Last night was just rough up here,” You poke at your temple. “That’s all. I’m sure I’ll be able to sleep easily tonight with how tired I am.”

“Where’d you sleep last night?” He asks, knowing decent spots to sleep were limited now that the all of the kids were reunited again. Everyone, except Max who was at the hospital, and Lucas, who refused to leave her side. Still, there were only so many places to rest for the entire group, even in a roomy house like Steve’s.

“Um… well, some of the kids had the pullout couch, one took a recliner, Robin has the guest room, and Jonathan and Nancy have your parents’ room… so I slept on the floor in the living room.” You shrug, but you know that contributed to the lack of sleep, and extra aches in your back. How you ever easily slept on the floor as a kid during sleepovers, you’ll never understand.

Steve looks bothered by this, letting go of your face as you move to the faucet to wash your hands. “What? Why didn’t you say something? You could’ve had my bed.”

You scoff a laugh out, “Steve, you need a real bed after everything you’ve been through. I can handle the floor like a big kid.”

“Okay, well, tonight you can sleep in my bed. I’ll take the floor, I don’t mind. Or I can sleep downstairs somewhere if you want sp—”

You shake your head wildly. “Don’t- I don’t wanna be alone again.” You maneuver around Steve as he slides off the counter, and you take his spot to let him tend to your wounds next. Finally, you confess, “I fell asleep once, and it was just one giant nightmare. I stayed up after that. Didn’t want to see that shit again.”

Steve washes his hands, lips pursed and brows furrowed as he keeps quiet for a moment, thinking. The two of you always trusted one another, always came to one another whenever you needed, so why the hell were you isolating yourself now?

“Next time, tell me. Wake me up. I don’t care.” Steve’s tone is firm, but he’s not upset with you. Just upset that you’re retreating into yourself when he just wants to help.

He starts peeling off the butterfly bandages around the slit skimming vertically down your eye. It begins just above your eyebrow, running down to your brow bone, pausing across your eye before continuing just under your lash line, finishing off past your cheekbone. Instinctually, your eye begins to squint closed, but the action tugs at your skin, stinging along the edge of your wound.

“Steve, you haven’t had a good night’s sleep since high school. Why would I wake you up when you need the rest?” He starts cleaning the wound, sighing to pause himself, think carefully about what he wants to say next. You keep going. “I actually did come in last night, but you were sound asleep. I didn’t have the heart to wake you up, not when you need the rest.”

“Close your eye for a second.” You do, appearing as if you’re failing an attempt at winking. Steve’s gently patting the cut with some sort of medical disinfectant on a cotton ball, heart aching little by little as you whimper in pain. You try keeping quiet, knowing your wounds are nothing compared to his. “You can cry you know. Or curse. Or yell. Or whatever. Stop trying to hide it.”

“Mine are like… paper cuts compared to yours.” He pats the wound dry with a new piece of cotton, sighing again. “What?”

“You don’t have to hide your pain from me. I’m not sure if you’re worried its a burden to anyone, or whatever, but you never hid from me before. What happened?” Steve begins to apply clean butterfly bandages along the deep slit in your skin. Every now and then, his eyes flicker to your lips, and you have to remind yourself your other face wound is a split in your lip. “Gotta get that next.”

“I can do it.”

“Nope, if you’re gonna nurse all of my wounds, it’s only fair if I do that for you in return.”

“Steve, you don’t have to—”

“No, but I want to. You’re my best friend, and you’ve been patching up my wounds since we were reckless little shits on the playground. You care about me, let me care about you.” His thumb gently presses on the untouched side of your bottom lip, holding it steady so he can begin fixing that one up, too. You’re too aware of how the pad of his thumb feels against your lip, wondering what it’d be like to wrap your lips around it and take him into your mouth.

“See, this is why I gotta hold your lip, you’re so twitchy.” Steve teases, unaware of why your bottom lip trembles every now and then when he’s so close. Is he really that clueless? “After this, you’re sleeping in my bed. I’ll carry you and lock you in my room if it means you’re gonna sleep like a normal person tonight.”

Your skin prickles and hair stands on end at his words. He really has no idea what he does to you with silly comments like these.

“Okay, but like…. What if I have to pee in the middle of the night?”

Steve stops his movements, snorting as his eyes close while a smile graces his features. With a shrug, he simply answers, “Hold it.”

Your jaw drops, feigning offense. “That’s fucked up, Steven.”

“So is sleeping on the floor instead of a bed.”

“You need it more than me!”

“Will you shut up for like, ten seconds? I’m almost done with this.” He’s stifling his own laughter, before murmuring, “Not gonna lie, you’re gonna look so badass when these are healed.”

“Pfffft. Maybe, but no one’s gonna be attracted to this mess.” You’re only joking, but Steve frowns as he applies petroleum jelly to your lips, generous on your cut.

“What? No fucking way. You’re still a babe.”

“Yeah, okay, Steve. No one’s gonna kiss me after this.” You chuckle, but notice the way his eyes flicker to your lips again, lingering longer than usual, then back to your eyes. His gaze is mesmerizing, with the warm brown color and hazel undertones, you can’t bring yourself to look away.

“I mean, I w—”

“Hey, St— oh,” Robin’s in the doorway of the bathroom, smirking at the two of you. “Am I interrupting something?” You lean back, fingers curled around the edge of the counter while Steve’s standing up straight, taking a step back from you as he clears his throat.

“N- no, we were just fixing each other up.” Steve nervously spits out, adding a shrug like everything’s cool.

“Right. Sure you were.” Robin teases. You want to shrink into yourself and completely disappear on the spot. “Where’s the box of movies you stole from work?”

You quirk a brow at her question, then look back at Steve. “You did what?”

“Shut it— I didn’t— I borrowed them. Robin, stop spreading rumors about me.”

“Fine. Sure. You “borrowed” them,” She flashes air quotes with her fingers, and you laugh. “Where are they? The kids are driving me up a wall trying to find them.”

Steve looks puzzled, chuckling. “They’re literally right next to the damn TV. Dustin should know that by now.”

She rolls her eyes, “Oh my god,” she turns out of the room yelling down the stairs, “Dustin! Get your shit together, man!” Before walking away, she glances at the two of you again with a smirk, “Have fun playing doctor, or whatever.”

“Leave.” Steve points out the door as Robin’s already leaving.

“Yeah, you showed her.” You tease Steve, trying to let go of what he was about to say before Robin barged in. You’re sliding off of the counter, and Steve playfully pushes your shoulders from behind, forcing you out of the bathroom.

“Alright, smart ass, let’s go.” He nudges you across the hall to his room, but you try turning away. Swiftly, he turns you back towards the door. “I wasn’t kidding, I’ll throw you over my shoulder if it means getting you to sleep in a bed.” He keeps a firm grip on your shoulders, pushing you through the doorway comically.

“Steve, if you wanted me in your bed so bad, all you have to do is ask nicely.” You’re not even trying to be coy or flirt, but it makes him choke on air. You spin around quickly, “Hey, you okay?”

“Yeah, I— wrong pipe.” He rasps out, clearing his throat. You don’t buy it, realizing your lazy joke was the reason for his coughing fit. Still, you let it go, not wanting to embarrass him. Steve continues clearing his throat as he pulls some old blankets out of his closet, and some pillows from his bed to lay out on the floor.

“Stay in your bed, I’ll take the floor, it’s fine.” You’re trying one more time, hoping he’ll stop being so stubborn and sleep in his fucking bed.

“Why are you so damn stubborn?” He wraps his arms around your waist and picks you up off the floor slightly, carrying you a few feet over before dropping you into his bed.

“I was just thinking the same about you.” You murmur, arms crossed as you look at the bed behind you. You realize how big it is, and have an idea. “If you won’t let me sleep on the floor, just sleep next to me. There’s plenty of room for the both of us anyway.”

“Sleep— sl— next to you? Same bed?” Steve’s voice cracks, pulling giggles out of you.

“Yes, Steve. Same bed. Unless you’ve got another one hiding around here.” You’re surprised you’re even suggesting this when the idea makes you incredibly nervous, but you need sleep, and Steve needs sleep, and you’re out of any other ideas. “If you want it to yourself though, I’ll sleep on the floor.”

“No- I- stop it, I’m gonna sleep on the floor, and that’s final.” His hands are on his hips, his signature, go-to move when he’s scolding the kids, but you’ve qualified for its appearance tonight, too. You rise to your knees on the bed, hitting eye level with him while you mirror him, hands falling to your hips in the same pose he has.

Steve isn’t having it, and before you can start verbally teasing him, he’s pushing you back into bed. You catch yourself on your hands as you stumble back onto the pillows. “I’m gonna superglue you to the bed.”

“Now you’re just being a child.”

“Me? You were just—” Steve sighs, hand dragging over his face. “Just go to sleep.”

“I don’t want to!” Your bottom lip is wobbling as your bloodshot eyes tear up ever so slightly; you’re doing all you can to hold them back, reminding yourself logically this isn’t that serious, but your emotions show otherwise.

If anyone else in any normal circumstances yelled this, they’d be deemed childish. You, on the other hand, you’re yelling this for perfectly valid reasons. And Steve knows what you’re feeling all too well. One more time, his heart breaks for you, watching the panic spread across your sleep deprived face.

“I don’t want to sleep, I don’t want to watch you get hurt over and over again in my nightmares. I’ve seen that too many times in real life, it’s sickening watching you get beaten to death time and time again… and I just— fuck. Steve, just take the fucking bed. Please? I don’t want to sleep, and you need it more than me, I really don’t mind the fl—”

Steve sits next to you and pulls you into a hug, holding you tightly against him. That’s when the floodgates finally break. You grip onto his shirt, balling the fabric into your fists as you begin crying on his shoulder.

“M’not going anywhere. Promise. You’re safe, I’m safe, everyone’s okay.” You know that’s not completely truthful; Max is hanging on by a thread in the hospital, and Eddie’s gone. Steve knows this, but right now his concern is getting you to finally fall asleep. “C’mon, you’ll feel better if you lay down.” You expect Steve to gently nudge you to the pillows alone, but he keeps his hold on you, carefully laying the both of you down. “You sure you’re okay with me staying in bed?” You nod against his shoulder, wrapping yourself around him as if that’ll anchor him here for good.

“Don’t go,” You’re mumbling into the fabric of his shirt, wanting to tug yourself closer to him, hang onto him like a clingy koala, but you’re trying to stay mindful of his injuries.

“Not going anywhere.” Steve whispers, kissing the top of your head before lingering for a moment. “Not going anywhere without you.” Neither of you untangle from one another, and Steve’s embrace is starting to calm you down to steadier breathing and shaky hiccups instead of heavy crying filled with anxiety and dread. With your body desperate for rest and the security you feel with Steve, it doesn’t take long for sleep to pull you in. Steve’s snoring softly shortly after you fall asleep.

———

At some point in the night, the two of you untangle, rolling to opposite sides of the bed. Steve’s woken up by movement, strange shifting in the bed next to him, and an airy whimper, just loud enough for him to hear. He rubs his eyes, turning over and sees your figure, facing away from him, remembering that the two of you fell asleep in his bed.

Steve’s not sure what time it is, nor does he really care, especially not after hearing another soft noise float from your parted lips. Trying to adjust to the dark surroundings, despite the weak glow from a night light plugged in, he stares at you, or what he can see, at least, worried you’re having another nightmare. He moves closer and leans over you, prepared to wake you up and give comfort if you need, but you don’t look scared. If anything, you look pained, frustrated; Steve’s eyes scan down your figure as you move again, noticing the way your hips roll forward against your own hand.

Holy shit.

Frozen, he can’t take his gaze off of you. He needs to. He should roll back over and force himself back to sleep, pretend he never heard anything, never saw you—

“Steve…” You murmur, languidly grinding against the heel of your palm, face buried into the pillow as you writhe under his imaginary touch. His mind starts spiraling.

That’s why you got nervous when he held your lip, or when you mentioned how with a lip scar inevitable in the near future, no one would want to kiss you, and the way the two of you couldn’t take your eyes off of one another. How you looked so mortified when Robin walked in, forcing the two of you apart. He begins to realize how this isn’t new, this has been going on for awhile, and he can’t believe how oblivious he’s been.

The signs have always been in your lingering touches, when you lock eyes with him and share knowing glances no one else would understand, the way you’ve always tried protecting him, or tending to his now routinely scheduled injuries whenever he’s caught up in anything related to the Upside Down. It’s always been in the way you’d give up your comfort for him, how you’d never complain if he woke you up from nightmares, calling at three in the morning.

How it’s an unspoken pact between the two of you to share your fries with one another, or when one falls asleep early during movie nights, the other thoughtfully covers them in a blanket, letting them rest. How you always keep extra medical supplies in your car just for Steve’s clumsy ass. How he’s sneaking you video tapes for free whenever you visit him at work. How you insist on calling him exactly at midnight on his birthday.

You’d drop everything in an instant for Steve, and he’d do the same for you without hesitation. Whenever he tries to put your needs first, you’re quick to point out that someone needs to care about him, too.

Steve can’t believe how clueless he’s been, and out of all the times he’s figuring this out, it’s now, while you’re having a wet dream about him. Because of fucking course it would hit him now.

While his thoughts ran in a million different directions at once, he wasn’t aware of how hard he became, hearing your cute little noises, and how he’s still pressed right against you from behind. Does he let you continue? Does he wake you up? If he does, what’s his excuse? Lie and say it was a nightmare? Or tell you the truth, risking ruining something before it could ever begin, embarrassing you on the spot?

Without warning, you turn over, still asleep as your arms slip around his torso loosely, as if you’re still trying to be careful with his wounds while knocked out. One of your legs slot between his, and Steve has to bite back a groan at the pressure against his bulge. As if that alone wasn’t threatening to make him fall apart, your hips begin moving lazily again against his leg, and he can feel your sticky heat on his skin through your sleep shorts. Steve’s about to lose his fucking mind.

“Stevie, wanna make y’feel good…” You’re still asleep as you murmur this. Steve knew you talked in your sleep, but never like this. He can’t take it anymore. One hand ends up on the hip facing away from the bed, while the other is drawn to your neck, curling to the back to hold you gently as his fingers slide up into your hair.

“Wanna make you feel good too, angel.” He’s guiding you slowly along his thigh, tensing up underneath you; he’s not sure how to wake you up without startling you, and he doesn’t want the building desire to end so soon.

In time with his thoughts, you begin to stir, eyes fluttering open. You blink a couple times, then Steve nudges against your core again, and you keen, throwing your head back into his hand already waiting for you.

“Oh- oh, fuck, oh my god…” You’re growing aware of the situation, realizing your dream is becoming reality so seamlessly. You’re embarrassed, you want to hide away and apologize, but Steve rubs himself against the leg you have pressed against him, releasing a throaty groan; the embarrassment falls away, fast. “St- Steve?”

“Yeah?” He’s trying not to pant this soon, trying not to sound so breathy and needy already.

“M’sorry, I- I didn’t realize that I—”

Steve shushes you softly, bringing your face closer to his as he leans in, noses touching while you’re both making the sweetest noises together. “I can stop, if you want. I- I shouldn’t just assume you want this, maybe it was a silly dream—”

“No, it wasn’t… I really want you, Steve.” Your hands test the waters, sliding up his body, but only over his shirt, before holding his face; your gaze locks with his, and despite the dim glow in the room, you can see the lust ridden look he’s giving you while nodding wordlessly to give his consent. You lean in to kiss him, lips touching ever so slightly; you freeze as self doubt sets in, but he senses it, and kisses you back fully, mindful of your split lip.

It’s slow, almost too slow for you and how wound up you are from the dream, but you do your best to stay patient. Steve’s hand on your hip sneaks under your shirt, just enough that the tips of his fingers brush against your skin, just beneath the hem. The hand cradling the back of your head moves to your jaw, fingers splaying out to get a better hold on you when his lips part against yours. You make some kind of small noise, a muffled yelp that slips into Steve’s mouth when his tongue slips into yours. Distracted by the kiss, your hips stopped rolling, so Steve begins guiding you along his thigh again.

A moan shudders out of you as you pull back to catch your breath. Steve can’t take his eyes off of you as your eyes flutter shut, head falling back as another sweet moan leaves your lips, losing yourself in the pleasure from such a simple action.

You’re not sure when, but your hands made it to Steve’s back, fists bunched up with the fabric of his shirt, not wanting to touch any part of him that might hurt, but needing to grab something.

“Does th- this happen a lot?” He manages to ask, and in his head, he’s rolling his eyes at himself, because he wanted that to sound so much sexier than it did. You’re in a whole different world, though, already blissed out when barely anything has happened yet.

“Mhm,” You open your eyes as you answer, the burning desire low in your body growing hotter as the two of you make eye contact again. “Can I- can we— take this stupid thing off.”

Steve laughs, realizing maybe sexy isn’t what either of you need right now; being best friends already, it only makes sense that the only time the two of you can’t form coherent thoughts laced with lust would be when you’re pressed up against one another for the first time.

Pulling his hands back, he gestures to his shirt in the goofiest way, like he’s Vanna fucking White, showing off a purchased vowel. “You can’t take this seriously, can you?” You’re not mad, in fact, you’re laughing with him, and something about the two of you nervously laughing makes you more comfortable being intimate with your best friend.

“I’m just filling in the blanks for you, angel.” He’s smirking, but he’s also trying to stifle more laughter, so it just comes out as a product of a snicker and a snort.

“Oh, that was real cute,” You tease, reaching for his waist. “Words, words are hard.” You’re grumbling, tugging at the bottom of his t-shirt, carefully pulling it over his head.

“Yeah, don’t hurt yourself thinking too hard.”

Whatever smart-ass retort you had ready to roll off your tongue disappears at the sight of Steve, now shirtless. It’s nothing new to you, you’ve seen him shirtless plenty of times before, but in the moment, you’re hyper aware of how different this is. There’s no going back, but if you were being honest, there was no going back once you moaned his name in your sleep.

“What?” Steve asks, laughter dying down as he watches you reach out to his torso, tracing his scars, both old and the ones just beginning to form.

“You’re so… pretty.”

Steve blushes, a rosy red shade blooms across his face, to the tips of his ears. “I— shut up.”

You scoff, “I’m being honest!” He tugs at the bottom of your shirt, waiting for your permission, but your hands hold his back, shaking your head. Shyly, you state the obvious, “I don’t have a bra on.” Of fucking course you don’t, you never sleep in bras. Even Steve knows that, forever impressed with how you could just unhook that damn thing with one hand so casually and slip out of it, pulling it out of your shirt without ever stripping. It’d take everything in him to hold his jaw from dropping, when you just wanted out of a ridiculously uncomfortable bra.

“Hey, it’s okay,” Steve reassures softly, only to follow it up with, “I don’t either.”

“Alright, that’s it, I’m going back to sleep,” You tease, beginning to roll back over, but Steve grabs you quickly to roll you on top of him instead.

“Like hell you are,” He’s tugging at your shirt again, looking up at you with those sweet doe eyes, filled with wonder and curiosity over what his best friend looks like under everything. “Don’t feel pressured to say yes. We can st—”

You’re pulling your shirt off with a determined speed, like ripping off a bandaid, throwing it on the floor. “I do not look good with these bruises.”

Steve sits up, all humor and admiration draining from his features as he takes in all of the severe bruising you have from a few days ago. “Wh… how— why didn’t you show me? Or tell me? Fuck, I probably made some of them worse—”

“Hey, Steve, it’s okay. Seriously. I’m okay. These are nothing compared to what you ended up with.”

He shakes his head, ghosting his fingers over some of the worst bruises, blooming in the darkest shades of purple and blue he’s ever seen on someone, including himself, and that says a lot. Some are beginning to grow into that sickly yellow, even greenish color.

“What the hell do I have to do or say to convince you that you’re allowed to show me your pain too?” He’s not sure what he’s feeling, he just wishes you said something, wishes he knew so he could care for you properly.

“There’s not much you can do for bruises, Steve.” You shrug. “M’sorry, I just wanted to put you first. You’re always caring for everyone else before yourself, and I wish you’d let someone care for you, too. I want to give you the love and care you give everyone but yourself. These mean nothing to me, I just didn’t want you to be disappointed.”

Steve can’t believe what he’s hearing. “Disappointed? From what? How you look with these? Because I wasn’t kidding when I said you’re still a babe with your face wounds, and that applies here too. You have… no fucking idea how badly I want to get my hands all over you, but I think we should stop. I don’t want to make those more painful than they already are.”

“Steve, I can handle it. I bruise like a peach, anyway.” You’re mentioning it casually, but enjoy the way he blushes at your words, clearly thinking of better reasons to be bruised. You smirk, “Feel free to tuck that fun fact away for another day.”

“I— I’ll bring that back up later.” He murmurs, trying to focus. “Anyway… are you sure?”

Rolling your eyes, you grab his hands, bringing them to your tits roughly. “Does this answer your question?”

Enthusiastically, Steve nods, fingers already toying with your nipples, breathing out, “Fuck yeah it does.” You start giggling until he latches onto one of the sensitive nubs, fingers softly pinching at the other every so often, in between grabbing a handful of you. He groans into your skin, thinking about how long he’s wanted to touch you like this, but it’s better than he imagined.

You’re arching your back as he switches sides, a thread of spit unraveling from his lips that’s still clinging to you; your eyes to roll back as you grind down onto his lap from just the sight alone, fingers twisting into his locks, tugging softly as he sucks, bites, soothes with his tongue, then repeats.

“I need…” You’re gasping, head falling back; Steve takes advantage of your exposed neck, kissing up your chest before leaving small, soft love bites up to your jawline.

“You need… what?” He kisses the corner of your mouth, but you can’t take it slow anymore, you need him now. You grab his face to kiss him, and it’s a little sloppy, a little clumsy, but he leans into it anyway. The two of you find a semi perfect rhythm, one that flows with the way you continue to grind onto him. You nip his bottom lip, tugging on it before letting go, and Steve moans into you.

“Need you, need you right now.” You’re frantically murmuring against his lips.

“We don’t have to rush.” He pulls back, searching your features for any sign that something is off, but all he sees are your lust blown pupils. “I mean, I’m not complaining, but—”

You kiss him quickly before pushing him back against the pillows, shimmying down his body, kissing his scars with care along the way, continuing down until you reach the waistband of his shorts.

“Oh, you don’t have to—”

“Steve, quit being nice for, like, five minutes. Are you okay with this?”

With a gulp he nods, breathing heavily “I— I’m more than okay with this.”

“Thank fuck.” You tug his shorts down, almost drooling as you watch his length spring free, the rounded tip red with desire, leaking precum. “Steve, what the fuck.”

“You’re sending me so many mixed signals tonight, holy shit. Is that … is that good?”

You need to shut your mouth, mind too far in a cock-drunk daze to tease him with words. So, you run your tongue up the underside his cock, broadly, taking your time to reach the head, eyes on him the entire time. Steve yelps on contact, eyes screwing shut as his head falls against the pillow, but he pushes himself to look down at you, bucking against your tongue before you take him in completely.

“Jesus fucking Chri-iiiiiiiist,” He shudders out, hands tangling into your hair as you begin to bob up and down on him. “This… you… hhhhohmygod—”

You pull off with a pop that echoes off the walls, a sound Steve wishes he could’ve recorded to play when he gets off in the future, followed by the sight of you drooling onto his cock as it kicks with need.

“Tell me how you really feel, Steve,” You tease before taking him in again, but he holds your head in place, making you pout. “Am I doing something wrong?”

“No, no, fuck no. Your mouth feels so fucking good, angel, but I need… I…”

“Take your time, babe, it’s okay.” You tease, making Steve groan, both with annoyance and a craving for you to get mouthy, just not now.

“Fuck me, just need you to fuck me, please baby,” He’s babbling as he tugs you back up his body, hands on your hips as you hover above his cock. “Need to feel you, angel.”

You push your shorts down and throw them to the floor with your shirt. “Yeah?” You lightly rub your core against his cock, and he bucks with a desperate whine.

“Yes, please, please—”

Words become nonexistent as you sink down onto him slowly, walls slowly stretching around him, adjusting to his size.

“Knew you w- were big, but not like… not like this.” You’re panting, overwhelmed by the slight pain from taking him to the hilt, but the pleasure is greater, rendering your brain useless. Not a damn thing on your mind except Steve and how fucking good he feels so deep inside of you.

“Fuckfuckfuck,” Steve gasps, grip digging into your hips roughly, knowing he’s just adding to your bruises, but he’ll apologize later. “You’re so— never felt a pussy tighter than yours, angel. M’god, don’t fucking move.”

You giggle, and he glares at you. “Don’t— do not do that either, just… fucking sit there for a second, okay? I’m really not trying to blow my load this early.” You’re doing your best to keep stoic, nodding as you fold your hands and wait patiently. “Oh my god, why are you like this?”

Shrugging, you begin to reply, “Why n— oh!” Steve pulls you down to him roughly, kissing you as he begins to move, fucking you slowly from below. He guides you by the hold on your hips, bouncing you on his cock, causing your eyes to roll back as he moves a hand to the back of your head. Holding you tightly against him, your forehead rests against his as the two of you gasp and pant lewdly onto each other’s lips. You’re riding him like no one else has, to the high fucking heavens, and he swears he’s gonna die a happy man right here, underneath you.

“How often have you dreamt about this?” You shamelessly ask, sitting up and leaning back as you roll your hips, grinding down so he hits your sweet spot just right. Steve’s speechless, flexing up into you, jaw slack as your walls flutter around him. “You’re so pussy-drunk right now, huh?”

A strained “Mhm,” leaves him; he’s not even going to hide how he’s putty in your hands, right now, and as long as you’ll have him. Finally, he rasps, “Fuck, wish we did this sooner.”

“We got all the time in the world to make up for it, Stevie.” Your legs twitch and shake, signaling you’re not far off from your high, but they’re also sore still from days ago, and right now, you’re just making them hurt more. Great cause, of course, but it doesn’t dull the pain, so you’re beginning to slow down. “Fuck, my legs hurt.”

“Oh, no you don’t,” Steve pulls you back down arms wrapped around your back, one hand gripping around his other wrist, keeping you stable as he plants his feet against the bed, fucking up into you with everything he’s got. “It’s okay, angel, I’ve got ya’.” He grunts, hammering into you with so much force, you can’t help but moan loudly, almost screaming, but you bury your face into his shoulder, biting down to muffle your noises as you flutter around him. “Fuck, didn’t think you were so vocal.” At this point, you are screaming, but the noise barely leaves you as you keep your mouth on his skin.

Steve’s hips are starting to stutter, and his cock twitches, needy for release. “Good girl, don’t wanna wake up the whole house, right?” That’s the final push over the edge for you; grabbing Steve’s face, you kiss him deeply to keep quiet. The faint, metallic taste of blood works its way onto your tongue, and you realize your semi-treated split lip is split once again. You pull back, trying to keep as quiet as possible, frantically whispering, “I love you, I love you, fuck, I love you—” Following you into bliss, Steve pulls you back onto his lips as he cums, filling you shamelessly as you still squeeze him, milking him for all he’s got as he’s moaning into you.

When the two of you come down, covered in a sticky sheen of sweat and hearts ready to beat out of your chests, the shame hits fast as he pulls back enough to murmur, “Fuck. I didn’t even ask—”

“Birth control is a beautiful thing, babe.” You smile down at him, breathless. Steve sighs relief, thankful for whoever the fuck created the pill. His eyes fall to your lip before thumb swiping the mess away.

“Shit, m’sorry.”

“Worth it. So fucking worth it.” You giggle before he kisses you softly.

Pulling back, Steve reaches out to cup the side of your face, and you lean into his touch, giddy and exhausted all at once.

He’s admiring the view of you above him, softly replying to your confession, “I love you, too.”

The two of you are basking in the afterglow of one another, beaming and holding each other tight, unable to move just yet. Steve doesn’t mind taking a second to catch his breath, but then a loud bang against his bedroom door startles the both of you.

“About fucking time!” Robin shouts from the other side before walking away. Faintly you hear her huff, “Noisy assholes.” Steve locks eyes with you, both of you stunned and embarrassed before bursting into a fit of laughter together.

“Still worth it?” Steve teases, and you shrug playfully.

“Worth what, the impending shame fest they’re gonna put us through tomorrow morning?” You lean down to kiss him again before replying against his kiss-swollen lips, “Oh, fuck yeah.”

#steve harrington x reader #steve harrington x you #Steve Harrington x y/n #steve harrington smut #my fics #prompts #pin back in the grenade

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sanguineterrain · 9 months

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redamancy | steve harrington

Summary: redamancy (n.) - the act of loving someone who loves you back; a love returned in full // or, four times you kissed Steve Harrington, and one time he finally kissed you back.

Pairing: Steve Harrington x fem!reader

Word count: 5.2k

Warnings/tags: friends to lovers, 5+1 fic format, no use of y/n, FLUFF, PINING PINING, injured s4 steve, hospital setting, general vecna angst (eddie's alive bc i will never kill eddie in my fics), bed sharing, happy ending, and kissing. if that wasn't clear. :)

A/N: fun fact: this is the first time i've written a 5+1 fic! technically it's 4+1 but whatevs. if you enjoy this fic, please give it a reblog and support your local steve harrington tumblrina.

divider by firefly-graphics

i. the promise

"Would you ever get married?"

You open your eyes. The setting sun nearly blinds you through the windshield. Immediately, you stick out a hand to block it.

You're still reclined all the way back in the passenger seat, because Steve's fancy schmancy BMW can do that. He frequently lectures you about doing it while he's driving. Have I taught you nothing? Road safety!

"I mean, I guess so," you say. "If someone ever wants to put a ring on me."

You sit up and pull down the sun visor. Steve turns. His hair lightens in the summer, shades of reddish blond peeking through. He insists his hair has never been anything but brown, fiercely pledging his allegiance to brunettes. You coo at his highlights all the same.

"I want to," he says after a minute. "I wanna get married."

You're parked down the block from your house. You should've gotten out ten minutes ago, but there's never any rush when you're with Steve.

"The line to wed you will be out the door, champ," you say around a grin.

"Hm. I dunno." He stretches in his seat. "Maybe if I was the same guy I was a few years ago."

You wrinkle your nose. "I doubt that."

"But what can I really offer?" he continues. "I'm just some guy who can't get into college."

"That doesn't mean no one will marry you. Some people who go to college are dumber than dirt. They get married. College has nothing to do with it. You can go, if you really want to. One rejection doesn't say anything about you, Steve."

"I guess."

You pull the lever on the side. The seat shoots up with a brrrap! It clicks as you straighten.

"Where did all this come from, anyway?" you ask.

Steve shrugs. "Just thinking."

"Dangerous."

He smiles. "I like to live on the edge."

"Contemplating marriage like the world's biggest sap. Definitely edgy."

Steve hums. His hands are in his lap. He picks at a cuticle, a habit he’s recently developed. You wonder why he’s so anxious.

"Two people from our graduating class got married last week."

Your eyes widen. "You're kidding."

"Nope. Lisa Schell and Gary Brewer."

"Wait, didn't she cheat on him?"

"Yeah, but he slept with her sister, so I guess they called it even."

You shake your head. "That's insane. They're literally babies, Steve. That's like Dustin getting married."

Steve scowls. "He's not allowed to get married before me."

"Not even to his possibly fictional Suzie?"

"Not even to her."

You stare at the freckles on Steve's face and how his frizz kind of looks like a halo in the light. You imagine the feel of his hair in your hands, the warmth of his scalp.

"I'd marry you," you say.

Steve's eyebrows shoot up.

"What?"

"Like, if you were in a pinch."

He looks at you sideways. You flatten, then scrunch your hands over your knees. Your tongue feels too big for your mouth.

"I'm talking about spending the rest of my life with someone, you know. Not borrowing fifty bucks."

"Fifty bucks is a lot of money for some of us, Harrington."

"That’s probably how much Lisa's wedding dress cost."

"I hope she kept the receipt."

Silence descends. A soft breeze blows through your cracked window. You want to search Steve's glove box for gum, but you've just told him you'd marry him, so you can't do anything except think about the fact that those words came out of your mouth.

"Are you…" Steve begins, then pauses. "Why did you say that?"

"Because you're worried, for some incomprehensible reason, that no one will marry you."

"I scoop ice cream for a living."

You level him with a look.

"Steve. We're kids. Cut yourself some slack."

His eyes turn hollow. They've been doing that lately. You wish you knew why.

"I don't really feel like a kid these days," he says.

Something about the way Steve sounds makes you want to climb over the console and curl into him, cradle his head to your neck. Which is crazy. You guys don't do that. Steve isn't yours to do that with.

"Let's make a pact," you say softly.

He meets your eye. "A pact?"

"Mmhm. Let's say if both of us aren't married by… thirty, then we'll get married."

"Well, I don't want a pity marriage."

You roll your eyes. "It's not a pity marriage, Steve."

"Thirty is so late! You really think I won't be married by then?" he asks.

"No, I don't think that. I already said folks will be lined up to marry you," you say.

"I can't wait till I'm thirty."

"Or you'll turn into an old maid?"

"Meh meh meh," he mocks without any heat.

You purse your lips so you don't smile. "Fine. We'll split the difference. Twenty-four?"

Steve considers that. Really considers it. It suddenly occurs to you what you're promising and who you're promising it to. You wonder if you'll both forget about it. Or brush it off. Oh, what did we know? We were kids!

Except Steve doesn't feel like a kid. And maybe you don't either, as much as you wish you do.

"Do you mean it?" he asks.

"Of course I do."

"No, seriously." He's serious. "I mean it, so if you don't…"

"Steve, I said I mean it. I do."

"You'll marry me?"

"I will."

"Swear on it."

You hold out your right pinkie out, waiting. Steve hooks his finger over yours. Impulsively, you kiss your linked pinkies. To show that you really, truly mean it.

You try to picture it. What walking down the aisle to meet Steve at the altar would feel like. You wonder if he'd keep his hair long, like it is now. You like it long. Would he keep it long for you?

"Will you buy me a ring?" you ask. "If we get married, I mean."

"Of course I'd buy you a ring," Steve says. "I'd get you anything you wanted."

"Okay." Your heart hammers in your chest. "I'm gonna go home."

"Alright. Want me to pull up to the door?"

"No, it's fine. Walking is good for digestion. Those milkshakes were no joke."

Steve smiles. He has such a lovely smile. His Cupid's bow is shaped exactly like a heart.

"Same time tomorrow? It's movie night."

Right. Your movie night. A semi-regular occasion that includes you, Steve, Robin, and the kids, sometimes. You've watched at least a dozen movies this summer together. Only this time, you're watching a movie after promising to marry Steve.

"Sounds good," you say. "Will you pick me up?"

"Always."

Another promise. You hadn't realized how many Steve makes to you.

"'Kay. See you."

You get out. Steve waves as he pulls away from the curb.

Your ring finger feels bare. You rub it, hoping the feeling will go away.

ii. the wound

The plastic chair has turned your legs numb. Your butt is about to follow.

Can butts go numb? You're not sure. You'll find out soon, though.

You rub your eyes. God, you need sleep.

Across the room, you catch Joyce Byers' gaze. She smiles at you, though it's brittle. You try to smile back, feeling distinctly like you might break if you stretch your mouth too far.

She looks away, and your not-smile falls.

"They'll let us in soon," she says, like she knows. She does know. Better than you, certainly.

The hospital smells cold. It smells like a place people go to die.

Your heartbeat ratchets. You shouldn't think like that.

"You don't understand," comes Dustin's voice. He's at the receptionist's desk, flanked by Mike and Lucas. Dustin's face is red and blotchy, near tears.

"I need to see him. You won't let me see Eddie, so—"

The receptionist rears back, like she can't believe three children are daring to speak to her.

"Neither patient is cleared for visitors," she says icily. "Now, for the last time: have a seat."

Out of the corner of your eye, you see Joyce begin to stand, ready to herd the kids away. You beat her to it. Out of everyone in this room, you're probably the only person who has the strength to stand.

"Guys, c'mon. It won't be long."

They don't look at you. You don't take it personally. An hour earlier, you'd cornered Dustin and forced him to tell you what happened. What's been happening.

So he did. And now you're here.

You don't blame them for glaring at the prickly receptionist. But you know that won't do anything. It won't heal Steve quicker. And it won't make anybody feel better.

"Hey, Dustin." You lay a hand on his shoulder. He looks at you like you're not Steve. You wish it was you in surgery instead.

"Come sit," you say.

"I need to see him," he tells you.

"I know." Your throat tightens, threatening to trap your words altogether. You rush to get the rest out. "I do too. But this isn't going to make that happen faster. Come sit with me. Okay?"

"He'll be fine," Mike says quietly. "They don't wanna get sued by his asshole dad."

You nod, because yeah, good point. Quite possibly the first time Richard Harrington has brought anybody comfort. He's in Cancun, last you'd heard. You hope he chokes on a margarita.

Dustin follows you. Mike and Lucas sit next to Joyce. The five of you wait.

At some point, you fall asleep. When you wake up, it's to the contentious receptionist peering over you all.

"Mr. Harrington is awake," she says primly. "You may see him now, young man."

Dustin flies out of the chair, Lucas and Mike at his heels.

A part of you wants to go home, and you feel terrible for it. You feel terrible that Steve almost died, but you're the frightened one. You don't know if you can bear to see him tied to tubes and a heart monitor.

"Go on."

Joyce tracks you sleepily. Her hair is more knotted than before you fell asleep. She nods to the hallway.

"Go see him."

You can’t voice every thought, every fear. I don’t know if I can see him like this.

“It’s good he won’t wake up alone,” she says.

“He’s got a family.” You wave your hand weakly.

Joyce watches you for a moment. Then she gets up.

"Yes, he does."

She holds out her hand.

You don’t know Joyce Byers very well. This is probably the longest conversation you’ve had with her. You realize, then, that you're wrong—you’re not the one who’s strong enough to stand.

“Let’s go see him,” she says. "All of his loved ones should be there."

God, are you really that obvious?

You take her hand, and the two of you go down the hall.

Steve is nearly unrecognizable in the hospital bed. The kids are speaking to him, unusually quiet. They look up when you enter.

Steve’s eyes lock with yours.

“Hey,” is all you say.

“Hi,” he says, voice rough with disuse and getting choked by what Dustin had described as demon bats.

“Boys, come on,” Joyce calls. “Let’s make a cafeteria stop.”

You see Dustin about to protest, but Lucas tugs his arm like he knows, and goddamn, you really are that obvious, aren’t you?

You wait for the door to close behind you. Then you walk to Steve’s side.

The gnarled ring of flesh around his neck makes you queasy. The rest of him isn’t much better, red and purple smeared across any skin that’s not covered by the chalky hospital gown.

You sit in the chair. It’s the same plastic kind as the ones in the waiting room, but this one doesn’t feel so hard.

“Robin called me,” you say.

Steve closes his eyes. “I’m sorry.”

“Yeah, you’d better be.” Your voice cracks. “Can’t believe you went dimension-surfing without me.”

“You’re mad at me.”

Your breath is punched out of you.

“No,” you say softly. “My God, Steve. I’m not mad at you.”

His hand creeps to the edge of the bed. His fingers are scraped.

You take his hand and lace your fingers together. He slow-blinks. He’ll probably fall asleep in the next half hour.

“It’s okay if you are,” he whispers. “Mad, I mean. I’d be mad too.”

You know he wouldn’t be, though. You know Steve would forgive you in a heartbeat.

“I’m not mad,” you say, equally as quiet. “I just… I was scared."

He nods. "I'm sorry for scaring you."

You bow your head and close your eyes. When Robin had called, you'd run to the bathroom and coughed up stomach acid.

They say he’ll make it, she'd told you, and you'd realized with violent clarity that you love him.

But Steve doesn't need that right now. So you bury it.

You lean in and bring Steve's knuckles to your lips, taking care not to jostle him.

His eyes widen. Part of you hopes he won’t remember this conversation.

"Don't do that again," you say. “Not without me.”

"Okay,” he whispers. “I won't."

You wait until he falls asleep, hand in his.

iii. the brand

“There’s no way I’m getting in your death van, Munson!” Robin whines.

“Death van is an exaggeration, Buckley. If anything, it’s a life van. I’m still here, aren’t I?” Eddie asks.

“Definitely not because of that heap of metal,” Steve murmurs to you. You snicker.

It’s nearly dark, but a summer dark, where it doesn’t actually turn to night until well after nine PM. The top two buttons of Steve’s dress shirt are undone, and you can’t stop staring. It’s embarrassing, really. You’d nearly missed Eddie’s walk across the stage because of that damned triangle of tanned skin and dark chest hair.

“Why can’t we take the station wagon?” Robin asks.

“I think Nancy already left,” you say. “Sorry, Rob.”

“And I’ve put my car jacking days behind me,” Eddie announces, flinging his arms out. “So my van it shall be!”

Robin whips her head around to glare at Steve.

“This is your fault,” she accuses scathingly.

“Me?!”

“You just had to go and get a flat tire yesterday.”

“Yeah, Steve,” you add cheekily. “Why couldn’t you have foreseen the dreaded timeline where Eddie drives?”

“Et tu?” Eddie asks. “I’m hurt. I’m a great driver, y’know. Better than Steve, some have told me.”

“Dustin only told you that ‘cause you were high on morphine and about to burst into tears,” Robin says.

As they bicker, Steve draws closer, so your arms brush. You close the distance, crowding him.

“Y’okay?” he asks quietly.

“Yes,” you say, startled. “Why wouldn’t I be?”

“Just checking.”

“Are you okay?”

He turns to you. He looks like he’s searching for something. You don’t know what.

“Yeah,” Steve says after a minute. “I am. Better than, actually.”

“‘Cause I’m here, right?” you ask with a gooey grin.

“Yeah. ‘Cause you’re here.”

He sounds honest, so you turn away, because you can’t handle that and his chest hair.

"I should get to choose where we go," Robin says as you arrive at Eddie's van. "Since it may be our last trip and all."

"Funny you were in Band and not president of the drama club, Buckley," Eddie says dryly.

"Pot, kettle."

"How 'bout Rita's?" you suggest. "Unlimited refills and no one will hassle Eddie."

"Aw, you care about little ol' me?" Eddie asks.

"If you get us there in one piece, yes."

Eddie huffs. "No wonder you and the Hair are like this." He crosses his fingers.

"Damn right," Steve says. "We even finish each other's—"

"Terribly cliche sayings!" you say.

Robin looks at you for a moment, unusually smirky. Then she looks at Steve.

"You match. Blue dress, blue tie."

"That's so if she gets lost, they know who to return her to," Steve says.

You scoff. "More like the other way around."

He pouts. "Hey."

"Hay is for horses," you sing, skipping ahead to Eddie's van.

"I'm sorry, are you excited to ride in the Hell Van?" Robin asks.

You shrug. "We could use some excitement around here, couldn't we?"

"No!" all three say.

"I've had enough excitement for ten lifetimes," Robin mutters.

Eddie pulls the door open. Your smile quickly drops.

"Uh, Eddie? Where the fuck are the seats?"

"Right, so, usually I only have Gareth and Jeff ride with me. Gareth always calls shotgun—"

"Shotgun!" Robin hollers, and races to the front seat.

You stare at the single backseat chair. There's no way it's big enough for you and Steve.

"Holy shit," Steve says, taking stock of the "backseat."

Eddie rubs the back of his neck. "Yeah… listen, if I'd known we'd be taking her, I would've put the other seat in, swear! Usually we take it out for the equipment."

"Well, what are we supposed to do? Lay down and pray? This is how people get head injuries, Eddie," you say, arms folded.

"Maybe we can call a cab," Steve suggests.

"At this hour?" You shake your head. "No way. This isn't Indianapolis."

"Oh my God." Robin groans. "The solution is so obvious. Sit on Steve's lap. Boom. Now come on, I'm starving."

You tense. Steve is tactile, sure, and you've become acclimated to that over the years.

But this? This is way, way beyond that.

"Uh…" Steve glances at you. "Do you… I mean, if you don't mind?"

You glance at Eddie, who's got the tiniest smirk. You glower and he clears his throat, hiding his mouth behind a lock of hair.

"I don't mind," you say, more confident than you feel. "It's a short drive."

Eddie nods. "Definitely. I'll step on it."

"Please don't step on it," Robin calls. "We're already chancing fate by letting you drive in the first place."

Eddie huffs, walking to the driver's side. "Y'know, Buckley, you are just…"

You look at Steve. He smiles at you, sweet as always.

"This isn't gonna aggravate any injuries, right?" you ask. "Me… sitting on you?"

You wince at the wording.

"No, should be fine. My PT gave me the all clear a month ago."

You nod tightly. "Right. Okay. You go first."

Steve climbs in, planting his feet on the floor. You go next, stooping in front of him. You catch each other's gaze for a moment. Then you laugh, suddenly trying to look anywhere but at Steve.

"Right, so I'll just…"

You slide onto Steve's lap, trying to hold some of your weight so you won't crush him. He splays an easy hand over your belly and leans over to pull the van door shut. Your heart thunders in your chest.

"You can sit back, y'know," he says, breath tickling your ear. "’M not made of glass."

"Didn't want your legs to go numb," you joke weakly.

Steve makes an unhappy noise and tugs you back so you're fully seated on him. You angle yourself so you can look at him. Steve looks up at you, lightly tracing a pattern on your hip. Like you do this all the time.

"Hi," you say, too jittery to crack another joke.

Steve smiles gently. "Hey."

His tone is fond. You feel sick.

"Everybody good?" Eddie asks.

He adjusts the rear view mirror and you watch his eyebrows shoot up in the reflection.

"You two look cozy."

"Shut the fuck up, Munson," you mumble. "Just drive, already."

Eddie giggles like a gremlin in reply and turns the ignition.

It’s not bad, at first. Eddie takes it easy driving through Hawkins. Part of it is because he doesn’t want to attract attention. The other part is that Hopper promised Eddie a night in jail if he caught him running the stop signs again.

You personally think it’s a bluff. Robin does not; she’s enthusiastically annoying about road safety, and points out every single sign and red light. This causes Eddie to start slamming the breaks in retaliation.

“Holy fuck!” you yelp when Eddie hits the breaks particularly hard. “Eddie!”

Steve is quick to tug you backwards, considering you’re not belted. You scramble to grab his shoulders and twist to look at him.

“Thanks,” you say breathlessly.

He smiles, then leans away, glaring at the front.

“Really, Munson?”

“She started it!” Eddie insists. “Blame your BFF!”

“Can you drive like someone who doesn’t have a death wish?” Robin shoots back.

Steve’s hands are now on the small of your back and on your hip, respectively. Your legs hang over the side of the carseat, butt nestled quite firmly on his thighs.

God, you’re never living this down.

“Y’okay?”

Steve’s breath in your ear makes you squirm. You turn to look at him.

“Fine,” you murmur. “I’m not crushing you, am I?”

“No,” he says. “Don’t worry.”

Eddie breaks again, harder than before. You slip.

Steve reacts instantly, his hand grabbing the meat of your thigh. Your dress rides up, so it’s skin on skin.

The momentum is worse, however, because you jerk back. Right into Steve’s face.

Your nose mashes into his, which isn’t great. But then, your lips smush against his cheek. When you pull back, there’s a smeared lipstick print.

Maybe you’re the one with a death wish.

Robin is screeching incoherently but you can't focus on anything but the smudge of pink on Steve's cheek. Your chest feels tight.

He looks like he's yours.

"Yeah, we're fine, " Steve says, voice close enough to startle you back into the conversation.

He looks up at you. Your hand lands on the lipstick, like if you cover it, it'll go away. Steve tilts his head, mouth open in a question.

"Sorry," you rush out before he can speak. "I got some of my, uh, lipstick on you."

He relaxes.

"Oh. Thought I was bleeding or something," he says with a slight laugh. "'S okay, I can wipe it off when we get there."

"Uh-huh."

You drop your hand. You can't stop staring. Stop staring.

The print isn't exactly in the shape of your lips, but it's close. You can see the divots and where your lips parted. If someone were to see you two, they'd assume a lot of things you're not.

Steve's collar is wrinkled from the van ride from Hell. His neck is flushed. You wonder how your lipstick would look there.

Eddie presses the brake, softer this time. Steve's fingers dig into the meat of your thigh anyway. More marks.

"Alright, relax, gang," Eddie says. "We're almost there."

You touch Steve's cheek again and hope he'll forget to wash you off of his face.

iv. the secret

It's raining. You're in Steve's bed.

Thunder shakes the sky. You curl further into your—Steve’s—pillow. It smells like his soap and detergent.

You used to like the rain. Not so much these days. Rain makes you think of blood on asphalt and being alone at twenty-four. Rain silences you.

"Do you think he'll come back?"

You've never dared to ask anyone. Not even Joyce. She'd know. She wouldn't tell you the truth, though.

Nancy Wheeler probably could. She'd face you with that steel brow of hers and give it to you straight.

Yes. The monster's back. You're not getting married.

You slip your hand into Steve’s. He squeezes your fingers. Outside, the rain roars.

"I don't know," Steve says into the darkness.

You can't see him like this. It makes you mildly claustrophobic. Maybe you should turn on the hall light.

"Hopper said he was dead. So did that other guy—uh, Murray. And like, Eddie's okay. And Max. El would tell us if she sensed something. It's not like he could come back without making a sound. I mean, from what she told me, she basically, like, unraveled him from the inside out. Which is pretty gross, but also a good way to keep someone dead."

He's rambling. He's rambling to distract you.

God, what the fuck are you going to do when you're twenty-four and unmarried and Steve's forgotten all about you?

"I don't want anyone to die," you whisper.

Steve squeezes your hand harder.

"No one's gonna die."

You shift closer. You can barely make out Steve's silhouette. The ends of his hair tickle your knuckles.

"Hey," he says, and you try to find his eyes, but you can't. "Nothing's gonna happen, okay?"

"Yeah," you say, even though something did happen, something that almost took him away from you, and you don't know if you can handle that again.

"You can stay here as long as you want," he says.

"I can go back to my room."

Steve threads his fingers with yours. You can't see his eyes but it's okay.

"Don't," he says.

"Okay."

You scoot forward, closing another few inches between you two. Now, you feel Steve's breath on your face. He smells like minty toothpaste. He is alive.

The rain batters against the windows. You could kiss him. You could kiss him right now, and no one would know except for you and him.

His breath has begun to even out. You lean in blindly. Your lips land on his hair.

It's hardly a kiss. It’ll be your secret anyway.

+ and, finally, the first.

"Dustin wanted chocolate milk," you say, not looking up from the tub of yogurt you're searching the date for.

"Yeah," Steve says, parking the cart to the side. "Kid's addicted."

He opens the giant fridge door and a burst of cold air nips at your arm. You shy away.

"Six dollars? Jesus, does it come from gold cows?"

You snort, finally putting the yogurt in the cart. You stay at Steve’s house more often than not these days, so there’s no point in getting a separate cart.

"What?" Steve asks, looking at you.

"You're funny, that's what."

"I am?"

"You sound like somebody's grandpa."

"I do not!"

"Do too," you say sweetly.

"Do not."

"Do too infinity."

Steve rolls his eyes.

"Yeah, whatever. I'm a grandpa 'cause I don't wanna spend a leg and an arm on chocolate milk for the little shit? So be it."

"Steve," you begin, eyebrows drawing together. "It's his birthday. Have a heart, old man."

"Oh, good grief," he mumbles, but he takes the carton and puts it into the cart.

You smile. Steve shakes his head.

"This is why I don't go shopping with you. You're an enabler."

"I am," you say happily, walking alongside him as he pushes the cart.

"And you don't push the cart."

You tut. "Pretty girls don't push shopping carts, Steven."

"Oh, they just find some poor sap to push it for them, huh?"

"I'm so glad you're on board," you say, skipping ahead to the chip aisle.

You look through the shelves and land on two types of Doritos. Cool Ranch and Original. It’s a tough decision.

“Steve, what do you think?” You hold up the bags. “Which do they like better?”

“Ranch. According to Mike, liking the original flavors of snacks is lame.”

You snicker and take three bags of the Cool Ranch. Steve pushes the cart to you.

“I feel like we’re shopping for our kid,” you say. “We’re the awesome house everybody wants to visit because we have the best snacks and the biggest pool.”

You look up when Steve doesn’t reply. He stares at you, expression unreadable. Your smile dims.

“What?” you ask.

Steve shakes his head.

“Nothing,” he says quietly. “It’s nothing.”

“Steve, seriously. What is it?”

He shakes his head again.

“Nothing, really. Just zoned out for a second.”

He continues to push the cart down the aisle. You watch him for a moment, then follow. The two of you quickly check off the remaining items on Steve’s list (yes, his actual, physical grocery list), and then you check out.

The cashier smiles at you both in line. She’s an older woman, with the typical poofy blowout nearly every woman over fifty gets at Brenda’s Salon in downtown Hawkins. You busily put the items on the conveyor belt while Steve takes out his wallet and makes conversation with the cashier. It’s a good routine you two have established.

When the cashier’s done, you squeeze past the cart and grab half of the bags. Steve takes the receipt and the rest of the bags.

“You two are very sweet together,” the cashier says, her round cheeks blush-red like apples. “Have a wonderful day.”

“You too, ma’am,” Steve replies, and heads to the exit.

You’re frozen for a moment, startled until Steve calls your name. You heft the bags in your arms and hurry after him.

Steve stops and takes two of your bags before crossing the parking lot.

“Steve,” you say, and huff. “I can carry them.”

“Pretty girls don’t push carts or carry bags. It’s the rule, remember?”

You watch, unimpressed, as Steve then proceeds to try and get his car keys with an armful of grocery bags. When he almost drops a bag for the third time, you sigh and take pity.

“Which pocket?” you ask, snaking your arm around.

“Back left,” he says, smiling sheepishly.

You roll your eyes, feeling disgustingly fond. You shove your hand down Steve’s back jean pocket. He wiggles his eyebrows at you.

“Take me out to dinner at least,” he says.

“Pretty boys don’t get taken to dinner until the pretty girl has been asked out properly,” you shoot back.

Steve smiles, but the joke doesn’t land like it usually does. You step away as soon as you get the keys, clearing your throat.

“Well, I hope you’ve learned your lesson about carrying all the bags, Popeye.”

You open the trunk for him, then go to open the passenger side door.

“If I don’t carry all the bags, how else am I meant to show off to the ladies?”

You pull the handle on the driver’s side for Steve and he gets in, beaming cheekily at you.

“The only person who’s watching you make a fool of yourself is me, big guy,” you say. “So, mission failed.”

You open the glove compartment and start fishing through for gum. You find a Juicy Fruit packet but it’s empty.

“Damn, that’s what we forgot,” you say, defeatedly crumpling the cardboard. “Gum.”

You start to turn to Steve. “Do you think we—”

You’ve wondered, probably more than you should, about how Steve Harrington kisses.

Now you know: tenderly.

He cups both sides of your face, and you have to brace yourself on the center console for balance. Your other hand tangles in his hair. It’s as soft as you imagined, free of product, and you scrunch the baby hairs at the base of his scalp. Steve makes a quiet noise.

You kiss until you need air. Even then, Steve doesn’t let you go far. You part with only an inch or two between you.

“There’s gum in the middle compartment,” is the first thing he says.

“Huh?”

“In here.” He pats the compartment between the seats. “Hubba Bubba. I got it last week.”

You giggle and grab Steve’s face with both hands. His hands slip to your arms and he squeezes, smiling gently.

“What?” he asks.

“Fuck, I’m glad I know you,” you say.

Steve kisses you again. Two. Steve Harrington has officially kissed you two times.

You hope you’ll lose track at some point.

#steve harrington x reader #steve harrington x yn #steve harrington x you #steve harrington fanfiction #steve harrington imagine #steve harrington x y/n #steve harrington fluff #stranger things fanfiction #stranger things x reader #stranger things #stranger things x you

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her-power · 5 months

Text

The End of All Things (e.m. x fem reader)

C/W: 18++++ MDNI, I'm serious! Sweet! Eddie, smut, fluff, fingering (f receiving) oral (f+m receiving) unprotected p in v (don't be silly, wrap your willy!) making out, swearing, grief, hurt/comfort, parentloss, death, talk of death, best friends in love summary: This takes place 5 years after the events of S4. Midsummer 1991. Eddie & reader are in their mid twenties. Eddie is your best friend and has come to you after an unimaginable loss you just endured. You realize your feelings for him during this time, and sweetness and sexiness ensues. I originally was going for a subtle smutty-ness, but I got carried away, whoooops. (I suck at summaries, I'm so sorry)

A/N: This is based off of a life changing event that happened to me when I was seventeen. A lot of it has actual conversations/reactions from said event. This was insanely therapeutic for me to write, and I thank you all for reading this if you do, this goes out to all the ones who suffered a loss and are still actively healing. I see you, you are a rockstar and keep going <3 I also pay a little homage to Matthew Perry/Chandler Bing. I'm still not over it and Chandler will always be my comfort character like Eddie. This may have multiple parts, I also semi-proofread this, sorry for any mistakes! The title is a Panic! At the Disco song, it's been on repeat for awhile for me and I think it's perfect for this so definitely take a listen to it after you read this.

Word Count: 7.5k

“She’s gone.”

Your breath hitches as you stare at the wide amber eyes of your father from where you sat on the couch. He was clasping your hands tight as you stared at him. Your throat tightens.

“You’re lying.” A smirk tugs at your lips, this was a joke. The second those words left your lips you felt something cold creep up your spine, turning your stomach into knots.

“Honey, I’m not. She’s gone, she—”

You stand up fast, ripping your hands out of his. Your bottom lip trembles as you feel your tears burn the corners of your eyes.

“You’re lying!” You yell at him. “Where’s Mom?! Where is she?! You’re lying!”

Your father drops his face into his hands, his shoulders shaking with sobs. You knew he wasn’t lying; you knew it. It didn’t mean you had to believe it.

She wasn’t dead. She wasn’t dead. Wasn’t. Dead. She’s dead.

Those words swirl in your mind as you quietly groan. Your fingers clench at the hem of your black camisole, pulling and tugging at the thin material, feeling too hot, too tight.

“N-no…” You whimper, your vision blurring as you stare at your distraught father.

Your very core burns, it stings, and you couldn’t tell if you had a heartbeat. Is that what she felt? You wonder. Hunching forward, the pain in your chest was building and building as you loudly gasp.

“Nooooooooo!” You wail loudly. You find yourself pumping your legs towards somewhere, anywhere. An escape.

The door.

You swallow back bile as you push your front door open with your shoulder, you awkwardly stumble down the front steps, and the cool midsummer air caresses your face as your feet hit the paved driveway. You gasp again, gripping at your chest, and then you scream.

You didn’t know you could make a sound like that. A sound that was full of pain, full of anger, full of a feeling of invisible hands squeezing your heart until it bursts in your chest. Your scream echoes through the quiet neighborhood; you inhale another shaky breath, nails clawing at your stomach as you wail again.

A dog barks in the distance, a porch light turns on, then another. You swear you just heard someone say your name. You lift your head to the sky; the stars were so visible and beautiful that night, looking like small freckles kissing the dark sky. Your legs tremble beneath you, they’re numb, and you feel them start to buckle-

Strong arms grab you from behind, wrapping protectively around your middle; hot breath hits the back of your neck. Cool metal from ringed fingers touches your skin, hugging your arms to your chest as you let out another heartbreaking wail.

“It’s me, it’s me, sweetheart."

Eddie. Your best friend since you moved to this shitty town ten years ago. Your sweet, chaotic, beautiful Eddie. Your legs finally give out and he gently cradles your back against his chest, resting his forehead against your bare shoulders, feeling the roughness of hard pavement as your bum hits the ground. Your head leans back against his shoulder, his curly hair tickling your cheek ever so softly.

“H-how…” You try to form words; they were caught in your throat; you weren’t even sure if you had a voice anymore.

You wanted to ask how he got to you so fast, and if he could hear you all the way from his trailer a mile away. You’re practically sitting in his lap; his calloused fingers gently smooth out your mess of waves in your hair. Your vision blurred with hot tears as you could feel the Earth shattering beneath you. His hands find your face, his fingers cup behind your ear as he turns your face to his gently. Only the soft light from the front porch light illuminated his handsome features. Eddie. Your Eddie. His big brown eyes are wide as he stares at you, he looks terrified. He has never seen you this way before. You called him a few hours ago in the afternoon to tell him your mom had to go to the hospital for an emergency surgery, that you had to stay home to wait by the phone for updates from your father and you would promise to call him when you knew more. You were supposed to go to his place to smoke some weed and order pizza, a traditional Thursday night thing for you both. You figured he probably wondered what was taking so long, it had been hours. And for as long as you have known Eddie Munson, he didn’t have much patience; it was hard for him to sit still. Your fingers twirl the ends of his hair as you try to focus on him.

“Tell me.” He says quietly.

You can already see tears forming in his eyes, and you suddenly realize this is the closest you’ve ever been to him. Your noses were almost touching. You squeeze your eyes shut and shake your head from side to side, spitting and blubbering out more tears as the pain tightens its grip on your heart once more.

“I can’t.” You manage to gasp out. “Don’t…Eds, don’t make me say it.”

His hand cups over his mouth as he stares at you, realization settling on his face.

“No…” He inhales sharply. “No, Y/N…there’s no way.”

A memory flashes in your mind just then, a memory from only a few months ago.

You sat on the counter in the kitchen with your mom and Eddie as she made dinner. She was making his favorite chicken parmesan because it had been the five-year anniversary since he was no longer a suspect of those murders that had occurred that Spring. Your parents never believed he had anything to do with it, and it was your mother standing up for him at the town meeting that really helped his case, partially because the entire town was afraid of a hard-headed strong woman who grew up in South Boston, Massachusetts and also there was no evidence at any of the scenes of his involvement, or that he was a Satan worshipper. The other kicker was that Jason had disappeared, and everyone just assumed he did it after that. However, it didn’t stop the town from calling the cops every time they saw him walking somewhere or blasting Metallica from his speakers in his trailer. When your mom had her back turned, he attempted to stick his finger in the boiling pot of homemade meat sauce. Your mother wasn’t stupid, you swore she had eyes on the back of her head. She poked him in the side with the ladle handle, causing him to yelp.

“Come on! Just one taste! I promise I won’t ask for anymore until it’s ready. I’m STARVING.” Eddie pleaded, giving her a pathetic puppy dog look.

“Kid, get out of my kitchen. I’m not falling for that look again, I got stuck with you for ten years!” Your mother chuckles, stirring the sauce.

“You got stuck with a very handsome, talented, super funny son you always wanted! Did I mention handsome?” He towers over her and had sweetly rested his head on her shoulder, giving her a goofy grin. Your mother used the palm of her hand to push his face away and laughs.

“It’s my caring daughter’s fault for LITERALLY dragging you out of the mud that summer.”

Eddie looks at you, his smile reaching his eyes. “Yeah, your daughter is pretty awesome.”

He winks at you, and you roll your eyes, trying to hide the heat rising to your cheeks.

“Don’t kiss my ass, Munson.” Your mom laughs. “I’m sending you home a plate for your uncle, and you better give it to him this time!"

“He politely declined!”

“No he didn’t, you ate it on the way there!” You banter back at him. He whips his head around to look at you, his face falling in mock betrayal.

“You are not my best friend anymore!” He wraps an arm around your mom’s shoulders and kisses the top of her head. “She’s my best friend now!”

You roll your eyes and laugh, hopping off the counter and making your way back to your room, but not before hearing your mother say this to Eddie:

"Everyone is out of their damn mind for not getting to know you or love you like we do. Jokes aside, honey, I can never ever replace your own mother, but I will make damn sure that you know that you can always come to me for anything.”

“Awww, Mrs. Y/L/N. Don’t make me blush-ow!” He laughs, you’re guessing she pinched him.

“I’m serious, Munson.”

“I know, I know.” You can hear the smile in his tone. “Thank you. Thank you for everything.”

You stare him now; he’s trying so hard not to cry.

“Fuck.” His voice shakes and he pulls you into his arms for a hug.“Fuck. I’m so sorry. I’m so so sorry.”

Your fingers curl into the fabric of his Motley Crue t-shirt. Your mouth muffled by his shoulder.

“I’m sorry too.” You whimper. He hugs you tighter, and you can’t help but completely melt into his arms.

Your father had left the house the same night. Your mom’s brother lived an hour away, who was completely beside himself over the loss of his little sister. You could see that your father was exhausted, that he was tired of making fall calls and answering the phone. You could tell he wanted to go see his brother-in-law. He was already talking about arrangements, and you pretty much forced him to go see your uncle, that the arrangements could wait and that everyone needed to clear their head because she had just died. You assured him that Eddie didn’t plan on going anywhere and that she wasn’t going to be alone, that Wayne was aware of what had happened and knew where he was.

You sat on the floor of your living room an hour after your father had left. The rotary phone was at your hip, the receiver at your ear before you slammed it down and yanked the cord from the wall. You were over the phone calls too. The cops were called, apparently a neighbor had saw Eddie “lurking” around your house and assumed that was the cause of your screaming. You were too pissed, too grief stricken, too exhausted to bite your tongue. You had snapped at Office Hopper, but as always, he handled your snapping as graciously as he always did.

“Who was it?” You snapped. “Mrs. Hansen, right? That bitch always had a problem with us because my mother was so outspoken. She could never say shit to her face but would say it to our other neighbors. Well, guess what Kathy! SHE’S DEAD NOW!” You scream out your front door, Eddie’s hands were on your shoulders, gently pulling you back in the doorway.

“Easy, easy.” He mutters in your ear.

“Y/N. There’s no need to yell, I’m so incredibly sorry for your loss, but when we get a call that is concerning like that, we have—"

“Why is he still being targeted as the town freak? He has done nothing wrong, ever! We’re not in school anymore, we’re practically grown-ups. We work, we play nerdy games, and we listen to music. Come on, Hop. You know she didn’t call over concern for me. She hates me.”

Hopper sighs, taking off his hat. “You have to be respectful to your neighbors. You know this. Especially…” He lowers his voice and leans closer to you. “Especially the ones who call when a cat shits on their lawn.”

A smile tugs at your lips, and your face softens.

“Get some rest kid. Let us know if you need anything.” He glances at Eddie. “Take care of her, yeah?”

“Yeah.” Eddie nods. “Yeah, I know Hop. Thanks.” He says softly.

You shut the door quietly and lock it. You glance at the clock, not believing it was after midnight. You comb your fingers through your knotted hair.

“I’m going to wash up. I need to scrub this fucking night off me.”

He nods at you, and you gently squeeze his hand as you walk by him into the bathroom. Eddie watches as you walk away, his breath hitching as soon as you close the bathroom door. He runs his hands through his hair and shudders. Eddie was usually pretty good with his words, most of the time he could never stop talking, but tonight, he had none. He had no idea how to comfort you, he had no idea what to say, or what to do. He loved your mother. That woman took him in like her own with no questions asked and it got to a point where Wayne would offer her money, which she would always refuse. She was the only one besides Wayne to defend him after the murders and all the bullshit with Hellfire. You had told him that Hopper had to practically restrain her from punching one of the mechanics who wanted to go on a witch hunt to find you; you told him you had never seen Hopper so scared for another human being. Eddie has tears form in his eyes and he quickly swallows them back, groaning quietly from the stinging and aching in his chest. Your mother treated him like a son, and he knows he would never feel that again and that hurt. It also hurt that Eddie had never told her how he felt about you, how for so many years he would be brave enough to pull her aside and say something but would pussy out last minute. Eddie wanted your mother’s approval. It had been like that for ten years. Yeah, he slept around, wasn’t a virgin by any means, but none of them ever stuck. All those girls, those women, he always wished it was you. He loved you; he loved you so much, but now, he wasn’t sure if he could ever tell you.

You peel off your clothes after you begin filling the bath, you stare at yourself in the mirror. You look like you aged fifteen years in a few hours. Blood shot eyes, hair a wild mess, cheeks crimson from all the screaming and tears. You sigh as you step into the bath, the water hot and you wince as you feel every muscle unclench as you slide into the porcelain, until just your head is exposed above the water. You stare up at the tile on the ceiling, marking each corner that had cobwebs that you made a mental note to clean. You close your eyes, inhaling a breath as you sink your whole face under the water. The sounds are muffled, the sound of the faucet still filling the tub vibrates around you. You wonder what it felt like, what she felt. Did her heart stop first? Or her brain? Did she know she was going to die? You open your eyes underwater, your chest clenches again and you stop holding your breath. Your mother’s lifeless face flashes in your mind and you gasp in water, quickly lifting yourself up, knocking over the shampoo bottles. You sputter and cough out the water you had just inhaled. Tears spring to your eyes and you begin to sob and suddenly felt so, so alone.

“Eddie.” You groan out, but your voice felt small. “Eddie!” You call again, the tears still spilling.

You hear a shuffling of footsteps outside the bathroom door, and a soft knock. “Are you alright in there?”

You had forgotten you were naked and submerged in water as you lean forward to turn the faucet off. You felt insanely vulnerable, but you needed to clean yourself up. You just didn’t want to be alone. You bring your knees up to your chest, resting your cheek on your knee, doing your best to cover your breasts and torso. The lower half of your body was hidden by the soap bubbles.

“You can come in.” You tell him meekly, wiping away the hot tears.

You knew he hesitated, it took him a few moments to respond. “Are-are you sure?”

“Yes, I just need…I just need someone in here with me.”

The latch on the door clicks open, and he slowly pushes it open with his toe. His eyes were already averted to the ceiling as he walked in, trying his best to be respectful.

“You can look at me, Eddie. It’s okay.” Wow, you thought to yourself, you were feeling brave.

A blush rises to his cheeks, and he meets your eyes, breathing a sigh of relief when he could only see your bare shoulders, legs and back. He sits on the floor next to the bathtub, leaning his back against the wall and looks at the side of your face.

“Talk to me.” He says sweetly, resting his chin against the lip of the porcelain.

He watches you make the washcloth swim back and forth in front of you, and he gently leans towards your hands, taking the cloth from you. He waits for you to say something, but you don’t. He takes the small bottle of body wash and squirts a glob of it on the cloth, gently massaging it into the fabric. Your heart was racing, and you hear him inhale a shaky breath. He kneels up a little, the warm washcloth hits your skin so gently as he carefully traces circles around your shoulders. You shudder, a warmness settling in your tummy.

“What am I gonna do?” You say quietly, tears burn your eyes again and you groan, you were tired of the tears.

Eddie swallows hard, gently moving a piece of your hair back to wash your neck. This felt foreign to you, this semi-erotic moment of him touching you like this, so sweetly, so gently. Your Eddie.

“I don’t know.” He says to you. “I wish I did, but I don’t.”

You lift your head to look at him, seeing a blush creeping up as the hills of your breasts are exposed. You watch him as he concentrates on your back, gently moving the cloth up your neck, your eyes flutter close. He dips the washcloth in the water and squeezes out the excess, pausing before moving his way towards your lower back.

“You know whatever you need, I’m here. Okay?” He tells you and you nod. He gently wipes away an exposed tear from your cheek. “You’re kind of stuck with me at this point.”

Your face scrunches up in mock annoyance and he laughs, you chuckle. “Yeah, I know. Thank you.”

He's looking into your eyes now and your eyes dart to his lips, before looking back into his eyes. He quickly glances away to finish washing your back and you turn your body towards him so suddenly, water splashes up and he drops the washcloth. You don’t know where this feeling came from, how you just wanted to continue to be touched by him, be loved by him. Was it the grief? You weren’t sure, but you sure as hell wanted to feel something else besides the fucking horrendous pain. Your hands are on his shoulders, the wetness from you dampened the ends of his hair as he stared at you with wide eyes.

“What are you doing?” He whispers, his hands reaching up to cup your wrists.

You could tell he didn’t want to overstep, and he kept his eyes just on you, your eyes. He was a gentleman in all the right ways; but he desperately wanted to look at your body. You were fully exposed to him besides your lower half, and he had dreamt of a moment like this. Your hands touch his cheeks, your nose barely grazes his.

“Kiss me, please?” You say quietly, and his breath hitches.

His hand cups the back of your wet hair, pulling you towards him slightly as your breathing picks up. You could feel him tremble as you lean closer, your breasts pressing against the coolness from the porcelain, your nipples hardening at the contact. You push your mouth onto his, his plush lips as soft as you imagined they would be. He uses his other hand to cup your neck, you opened his mouth with yours, feeling his tongue enter your mouth so carefully. You were kissing your best friend. You were kissing your best friend. You were kissing Eddie. Your Eddie.

You wrap both arms around his shoulders, and his hands wraps around your middle. He was getting comfortable, years and years of his love for you was spilling out in this exact moment. You feel him lift you so easily out of the tub, awkwardly stumbling into the wall. Not realizing how strong he was, he grabs your ass, hoisting you up to wrap your legs around his waist. You could feel his clothes soaking from the contact of your wet skin and could feel the wetness that pooled between your legs as he kept kissing you, blindly searching for the handle of the door. The cool air from the living room air conditioner hits your bare skin, causing gooseflesh to prickle all over you. You push your body against his more, deepening the kiss and he groans, bumping into everything you both contacted. Pictures became crooked on the walls, you heard something tip over from a few of the shelves, and you finally make it to your bedroom door. Your back hits it a little roughly, and he pulls away from you to catch his breath before pressing his mouth to yours again and he finds the doorknob with one hand as the other continues to hold you up. You both fall to your bed with an oomph, you start laughing hard because your head had clunked against the headboard, and he looks at you with wide eyes.

“Shit.” He breathes out, pulling away from your lips and laughs. “I’m sorry, are you okay?”

You smile at him and nod, your lips pulsating from the kissing. He smiles down at you, rubbing your cheek, your hair, his hand gently smooths its way down your bare arms, towards your hips. He’s still looking at you, wanting to make sure it was okay for him to really see you before going further. You rub his cheek, and he leans into it, gently kissing your palm as he hovers above you. He was still trembling, and you take his hand, placing it on your skin below your breast. His calloused fingers squeeze the spot gently, his fingers barely grazing the underside of it as you watch his throat bob. He leans towards you and kisses your lips gently, leaning back on his heels as his eyes dart over your body. You bend your knees ever so slightly; he places his hands on your knees and kneels between your legs. He lets out a sigh and smiles sweetly at you and pulls off his shirt. His fingers trace a soft line over your ribs, he makes circles over your navel, the soft skin at your hips.

“You’re so beautiful.” He whispers to you, he chuckles awkwardly. “I mean, you’ve always been beautiful to me, not that just your body is beautiful. Your face is beautiful too, and your heart. All of you, everything—”

“Eddie, take a deep breath.” You smile, moving your palm up his torso and cupping his cheek.

He laughs, inhaling deeply, and places both hands on the side of your head as he leans down, your legs wrap around his jeans, feeling his eager bulge through the zipper. He kisses you softly, pulling away to look into your eyes. You could see tears form at the corners of eyes and you hold his face in your hand.

“What? What is it?”

He sighs, leaning up on his elbow. “For so many years, I wanted to tell your mom something that had been eating at me.” He groans, a single tear falls down his cheek and you wipe it away. “I wanted to tell her how insanely in love with you I was…I am.”

Your eyes widen at his confession, your heart does a back flip, and you feel your own tears prickle your eyes.

“I know it doesn’t mean much now, because she’s gone…fuck.” More tears spill from his eyes, you wipe them away, he holds your hand to his cheek. “I loved her. I loved her so much and she became a mother to me at a time when I really needed her, and she always told me I could tell her anything. I should’ve told her how I felt about you sooner, and I’m sorry I didn’t.”

Your heart broke for him. You knew how much he really did love your mom. Their relationship was for sure that of a mother and son. He had called her one night from the Hideout in the middle of the night because he got into a fight with a stupid townie and she’d bring him back to your house, cleaning up his wounds and comforting him. One night he had fallen asleep on your couch from a night of too much drinking, and she tucked him in, placing a large cooking pot next to him in case he had to puke. She would do so many motherly things for him that he wasn’t used to, and once he was finally comfortable enough to accept those gestures, he felt like a little boy again. You bite your bottom lip to stop it from trembling and you give him a smile.

“I think she knew.” You curl your fingers through his hair.

“How?” He asks you.

“I never really thought much about it at the time, but she would throw subtle ‘son in law’ jokes at me and I would just ignore her. Because you were my best friend, there was no way you’d feel any other way than that. Or so I thought.”

You trace an outline on his lips with your finger. “You love me?”

He nods, not bothering to wipe another stray tear away. “More than you know.”

“I love you, too.” You tell him softly and he smiles.

“Yeah? You sure?”

You roll your eyes, tugging a piece of his hair and he yelps. “Don’t make me take it back.”

He laughs, caressing your face with the back of his hand, smoothing out your wet hair. He leans down, kissing you softly. You wrap your arms around his shoulders, pulling him onto you, he lets out a hot breath as you push your tongue in his mouth. His hands travel down the dip in your shoulder, down the middle of your chest and stops on the curve of your breast. You feel the coolness of his metal ring against your skin, your nipple hardens, and you gasp in his mouth when you feel his fingers gently pinch the hardened bud. His mouth finds your throat, leaving kissing trails down to your shoulders, still pinching and squeezing your breasts as you squirm beneath him. His mouth takes your nipple in his mouth, and you hear him softly moan as he gently bites down. His tongue swirls around the bud and sucks, and you arch your back. His hand travels down your navel and over your sex. You whimper when you feel his fingers spread your lips apart and he runs a finger over your clit. He pulls away from your breast and kisses you hungrily, his fingers tracing circles around your clit, pushing down and he smirks against your lips when you let out a loud moan. No one has ever taken their time with you; you have only had sex with two men in your life and it was always you finishing them off first and them being “too tired” to return the favor. Eddie knew what he was doing, you knew this wasn’t his first rodeo, and you desperately wanted to know what else he could do. He pulls away from your lips, licking and kissing a trail all the way down to your navel. He leans back on his heels, and your eyes widen at the outline of his hardened cock beneath his jeans. He places his fingers in his mouth, sucking off the taste of you and you squirm at how sexy he looked. You bend your knees and open your legs wider.

“Damn.” He mutters, scooting back to lay in front of your dripping cunt. He wraps his arms around your thighs and pulls you closer to his face. “You really are beautiful.”

He kisses your clit gently, you arch your back, gripping at the sheets beneath you. His tongue swirls around the sensitive nerves, and he sucks on it, letting out a loud groan. It vibrated your entire body, and you moan. His fingers press into the meat of your thighs as he buries his face closer, his tongue lapping at your hole as you could already feel yourself about to burst. You grip his hair, tugging on it hard, which sends him into a frenzy, and you feel two fingers slide their way into you.

“Eddie…”

You moan his name, and he begins to pump those fingers into you, pressing against the sponginess of your g-spot. He continues to devour your clit and you lean up on your elbows to watch him. You couldn’t believe this was happening, you couldn’t believe that your best friend of ten years was doing these things to you. Your Eddie. He pulls away from your clit, feeling you clench around his fingers, and he slinks his way back up your body, his chin wet and dripping of you. He kisses you passionately, you moan at the taste of yourself, and he continues pumping his fingers in and out. His thumb finds your clit and rubs circles, you hold onto his shoulders as he kisses you, feeling yourself close to release. He pulls away from your lips for a moment.

“Come on, baby. I know you can cum for me.” His voice was lower, almost deeper.

Those words almost sent you over the edge, words you never in a million years thought would come out of his mouth. He pumps harder and groans as your hand finds his cock through his jeans and you rub your hand over the material. You dig your nails into his shoulders, and he lets out a hot breath against your neck, whimpering at the sheer intensity and passion.

“Fuck, Eddie…”

You moan out in pleasure and he groans against your neck. You feel the pressure building and building in your lower belly and you cling onto him as your orgasm rips through you and you cry out. He keeps his fingers inside of you, riding the orgasm out with you, the overstimulation was insanely uncomfy but as he kept pumping into you, you eased into another hard orgasm and your body shook beneath him. He slides his fingers out of you, you catch your breath as you continue to cling onto him. His hands grip your hip, and he looks at you, a smile creeping on his lips. You sigh, crashing your lips against his, unbuttoning his jeans hurriedly and sliding them off. His lips graze against your ear lobe and you roll him onto his back with your legs and he giggles. You laugh, kissing his lips, his neck and you lean up on your heels. His hands hold onto your hips. The length of him was almost intimidating, you bite your bottom lip and take him in your hands, gently moving your fist up and down. He lets out a deep groan and his eyes squeeze shut, arching his back. You rub his precum over his tip and he shivers, you move your head towards his cock and glance up at him. He looks at you with half lidded eyes and you lick a long strip from the base all the way to the tip, taking him into your mouth.

“Oh…oh my, unghhh—”

A loud, throaty moan escapes him, surprising you both and you both laugh. He covers his face with both his hands shyly, slightly embarrassed by the sound he just made. You kiss his tip, licking down his shaft and he whimpers. He grips the back of your head as you bob up and down, taking him all in, rubbing his balls to get him to squirm. He let out a low growl, a sound so animalistic and sexy you couldn’t believe you were the cause. He wanted to feel you, he wanted to be inside you and couldn’t wait any longer. He pulls at your hair, lifting your head up, your lips were swollen and wet with spit.

“Come here.” He says breathlessly. “Now.”

You crawl up to him, his lips catch yours in a passionate kiss. You were trembling now as you lined yourself up with his length. He cups the back of your head, sweetly pecking your lips as his other hand grips at your hips. You keep your face close to his, your lips barely touching as you lower yourself onto his cock. He squeezes your hips, throwing his head back into the pillow and lets out a throaty groan. You whimper as you take him all in, slowly rocking your hips to get used to the size of him as he stretches you out.

“Are you okay?” He whispers to you, lifting his arm up to cup your cheek.

You nod, pleasure was building in your belly as you grind against him, your clit rubs generously on his pelvis. You look into his eyes, running your hand up his chest, over his tattoos, tracing his lips with your fingers. You insert two fingers into his mouth, which he takes willingly and sucks. You move your hips up and then down, hard. His moan vibrates on your fingers as you rock faster against him; you remove your fingers and begin playing with yourself with that same hand as he watches you in awe. He arches his hips into you, and you cry out, your head falling back, he caresses and pinches your nipples. You lean forward, using the headboard as support to continue your movement. His tongue traces circles around your nipple, sucking hard and squeezing both with his hands. He moves onto the next one, you moan louder into his ear, and he grabs your ass, burying his cock deeper into you.

In one swift motion, he flips you on your back. His eyes stare into your soul, and you kiss him. He kisses you back with the same hungriness from earlier, taking your leg and moving it onto his shoulder as he thrusts into you. An insanely pornographic sound escapes your lungs, and he smiles against your lips. He leans up slightly to stare at your face, you were biting your bottom lip, and your eyes burn into him, and he could feel his heart growing bigger and bigger for you in that moment. You grab his perfect ass with your legs to push him further into you and he arches back; your lips go to his throat, gently nibbling on it and licking all over. Your orgasm was building in your belly, and by the way he was slowing down and getting a little clumsy, he was close too.

You pull his face towards you by the back of his head. “Fuck me.” You tell him through gritted teeth.

His beautiful brown eyes dilate, and you see the pure lust take over in his stare. He leans back on his heels, pulling himself out of you and you frown, he pulls you towards him hard by your thighs, his fingers for sure going to leave lovely bruises. But you didn’t care. Before you could make another comment, he slams his cock into you, and you scream out. He holds onto your hips, rolling his against yours at a hard pace, you swear you could see all the fucking colors of the rainbow.

“Fuuuuck…” He moans out. “Oh fuck-I’m gonna—”

“Don’t stop, Eddie.” You whimper, his cock slamming into your g-spot over and over was making you forget your name.

You move your hands down and find your clit, rubbing vigorously against it as your cunt clenches against his cock. He watches you rub yourself, a smile toys on his lips as he stares in wonder at you, he felt as if he was fucking a goddess.

“Oh god…”

“Cum with me, baby. I want to feel you.”

He groans loud, and that was enough to send you screaming, and crying out his name as you came all over his cock. You grip the sheets under you, still cumming hard and he slams faster into you, the bed squeaks and the headboard bangs into the wall and he sputters.

“Oh…my…unnngh.”

He slams into you once more, you could feel the warmness settle in your cunt as he came inside you, feeling his cock twitching as he slowed his pace and cried out, collapsing onto your chest. He rolls his hips against you and shudders. The two of you lay there in a pile of limbs, heavy breathing, and sweat. He lifts his head up to look at you, smoothing out your still wet hair, and presses his lips to yours. Your tongue goes into his mouth, and he moans softly, cupping the back of your head, deepening the kiss. He slides out of you gently, and pulls away from you, laying on his back. His hand rested on your thigh, and you could feel him dripping from you; you needed a minute. Or several.

“Well,” he says breathlessly. “I’ve never done that with you before.”

You weakly slap his chest and laugh loudly; tears prickle your eyes as you feel another laugh roll out until you’re full-blown cackling. He looks at you with a raised eyebrow and you laugh harder. He shakes his head, laughing with you, turning onto his side to rub your tummy gently. Your laugh was one of the things he loved about you because it was so contagious, and that this was the first time today he could see pure happiness on your face.

“I’m sorry.” You manage to say, your laugh still rolling out of you. “I don’t know why I’m laughing so hard. Oh wait, I do, you’re a fucking idiot and I love you.”

He laughs, kissing your cheek. “No going back now.”

“No.” You say, catching your breath, bringing your palm up to his cheek. “Never.”

He kisses your lips, your cheeks, your neck and leans up on his elbows. “My clothes are soaked.”

“I’ll put them in the wash.” You kiss his nose, slowly sitting up in bed, you could already feel the soreness between your legs. “I’m pretty sure my mom folded a bunch of your clothes you left here the other day.” You pause and turn to look at him.

“Of course she did.” He says with a sweet smile, tracing your spine with the tip of his finger. “Do you want me to go get them?”

You knew he only asked because the washer and dryer were in her little den with her vanity mirror.

“Uh, no. It’s okay.” You give him a smile. You go into your dresser, pulling out underwear and your oversized Queen tour t-shirt you got in 1987. Your mom had bought the tickets for you and Eddie; Eddie was indeed a total metal head, but he had a soft spot for Queen, probably because you loved them so much. You throw on the clothes and turn when you feel his eyes on you.

“What?” You ask, a blush creeping up on your cheeks as you stare at his naked body.

His right arm, which was covered in a full tattoo sleeve, was bent behind his head as he looks at you.

“Nothing.” He smiles sweetly. “I’m just trying to wrap my head around this. Around us.”

You lean over to him to kiss him, he holds your head,, leaving lots of pecks around your cheeks and lips, causing you to giggle. You pull away, turning around to grab his mess of clothes on the floor, throwing his dry boxers to him. He takes this opportunity to smack your ass and you yelp. You narrow your eyes at him, and pull out his chain wallet, snapping it open, pulling out some cash, you could only make out a few ten-and one-dollar bills.

“I’m taking this.” You tell him, shoving the bills into your underwear.

“Pretty cheap date, don’t ya think?” He laughs, pulling his boxers over his hips as your face falls into mock shock, you pull out the cash and throw it at his face, causing him to laugh harder.

You shake your head, leaving the room, heading towards your mother’s den. You slow your walking down as you meet the closed door. The grief starts to creep up again, your hand trembles as you reach for the doorknob. You twist the knob and push it open. An aroma of peach, rose and slight Sandalwood hit your nostrils and you have to hold onto the wall for support, blindly finding the light switch. The light is bright, and you squint, your eyes already filling with tears as the scent of your mother was everywhere in this room. Her vanity sat perched against the wall, the wood was a soft amber color. She had rebuilt this vanity after getting it from a garage sale a few years ago. You gently run your hand over the fabric of her sweater that hung behind the chair she always sat at; whether to do her make up, or randomly sketch some drawings in her sketch book. You pull your hand away as if burned, and you quickly go to the washing machine, tossing Eddie’s clothes in as well as some dirty ones that were in the basket. You see his folded clothes on top of the dryer, your heart hurt with how right you were and how she would never fold his clothes again. You groan, looking over the clothes, sniffling. You take out his Metallica tour t-shirt, and his black jeans. You exit her room after shutting off the light and quietly shut the door. Eddie was strumming at your acoustic as you walk back in, smiling at you at you hand him the clothes. He sees the tears in your eyes and immediately puts the guitar back on the stand.

He takes your hand, “What happened?”

You shake your head, trying to smile. “Nothing…it’s nothing. I’m okay. Can we go to bed?”

He looks you over once with concern and nods, gently kissing the top of your hand. You crawl into bed, leaning over him to turn off the light on your nightstand. You curl up next to him, burying your face in his chest. He wraps his arms around you, pulling the blanket over the both of you. You feel his lips kiss your hair and you sigh. All the sadness, all the grief had fallen away as he held you and you wished you could stay like that forever.

As if the universe was working against you, you woke up screaming. You were covered in sweat and tears pooled from your eyes as a panic attack settled deep in your chest. You sat up, leaning against the headboard, bringing your knees up to your chest as you scream out a sob. Eddie had woken up immediately, feeling you thrash around before you woke up. Dawn was approaching, and he flicks the light on. He kneels in front of you, placing both of his hands on the side of your head.

“Hey, hey, look at me, I’m right here.”

The dream you had replays over and over in your head like a broken record. You let out a painful groan, holding onto your stomach as you to try to speak and to calm your breathing before you hyperventilated.

“She…she was right there. Right in front me.” You tell him, your voice choking with sobs. “Right there! She was so close to me and I tried to reach for her hand but she kept moving away from me, and I ran to her. I ran so fast, but she just kept going further and further away until I couldn’t see her. And then she was gone. She was gone.”

You cry, hard, and he takes you in his arms, hugging you as you wept. You wail and he tightens his hold on you, gently rocking you as you gripped onto his arms.

“I’m not ready for this.”

“I know.” His voice trembles, smoothing out your hair. “You don’t have to be ready for something like this.”

“Why did she leave me?” You whimper, your entire body shakes.

“Why was she taken away from us!? Oh god…”

He kisses your head, your cheek, finds your lips and kisses them softly.

“Please don’t leave me.” You choke out. “Please.”

“I’m not going anywhere, baby. I promise you.”

“Don’t leave me.” You cry, holding onto him for dear life. He rocks you and you cry. You weren’t ready for the coming days, you weren’t ready to keep feeling this sorrow phone call after phone call, hug after hug, tear after tear. You weren’t ready for today. You weren’t ready for tomorrow. You weren’t ready. You weren't ready.

#eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x fluff #Eddie Munson x smut #Eddie Munson #eddie munson x female reader

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